The Half-Blood Romantic
by Sophprosyne
Summary: There's nobody like her. She's smart, beautiful, and witty. Unfortunately for Harry, she's also engaged. When Fleur Delacour returns to Hogwarts to help prepare for the war against Voldemort, Harry has to manage an uneasy balance between the demands of the war and the demands of the heart. Harry/Fleur during HBP.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter I**

The Burrow rose early. The smell of an oversized Weasley-style breakfast would fill the house along with the rising of the sun. Mrs. Weasley would be waiting in the kitchen for the rest of the family to rouse themselves. Mr. Weasley would ready himself for work during the week and for a relaxing breakfast on the weekend. The smell of food would inevitably awaken Ron, whose clomping footsteps would wake Ginny, who lived below him. She would scream at him, and that would wake anyone in the house who hadn't yet managed to get up.

It was rustic and artless; a routine that unselfconsciously repeated itself day after day. Harry loved it.

Dumbledore had deposited him on the Weasley's doorstep the night before and put him in Ron's room. He hadn't wanted to wake Ron so he just went to sleep on the bed that Mrs. Weasley had made up for him. Ron snored but it was still better than being at the Dursleys, Harry thought. He woke up as soon as Ron's feet banged onto the floor, the heady aroma of rashers in the air.

"Morning, Harry," Ron said, blurrily wiping the sleep from his eyes. He didn't seem surprised to see Harry at all.

"You're like a wrecking ball in the morning, Ron," Harry said. He had only slept for a few hours but wasn't feeling tired. The Burrow always gave him a sense of contentedness; it was a perpetually happy home for a large, loving family.

"I think mum is making bacon." Ron pulled on a pair of tattered slippers and ambled downstairs, yawning.

"Nice to see you too," Harry called out after him. He pulled on a pair of trainers and a robe and followed Ron downstairs. Food had always been a siren's call to Ron. Harry would never expect him to resist it.

Harry ran into Hermione on the stairwell. She looked very out of place in the bustling Burrow. If Ron's stamping around the house hadn't woken her then Ginny's scream would have. She had an irritated expression on her face which vanished as soon as she saw Harry. She brightened and gave him a hug.

"Harry!"

"Enjoy the wake up call, Hermione?"

"It was wonderful," she said, rolling her eyes. "When did you get in?"

"Last night. Professor Dumbledore picked me up from the Dursleys and brought me back here after some errands. I'll tell you about it once we've eaten. Ron will want to hear this too but we won't be able to get him to listen to anything until he's eaten."

"He's like a bear getting ready to hibernate," Hermione agreed.

"All year long," Harry said.

There were footsteps all around. Someone light, probably Ginny, was coming down the stairs after them. There was a crack and a scream downstairs followed by Mrs. Weasley screeching at Fred and George for apparating in the house.

"Ah, it's good to be back," Harry said.

Ron was already at the table, absently munching on a pair of sausages that were half sticking out of his mouth, like over elongated canines. The twins, unfazed by their mother's yelling fit, were eating at a much more sedate pace. Mr. Weasley had already finished eating and was reading through the day's _Daily Prophet_. His expression was bleak as he read the day's news.

Harry knew that the _Daily Prophet's_ tone had switched from accusing to histrionic since Voldemort's return had been admitted by the Ministry. Not a day went by without some sensationalized piece of news in the paper, half of which was certainly untrue.

"They're going to start a bloody panic," Mr. Weasley muttered to himself, turning the page.

Harry and Hermione took their place at the table, on either side of Ron, and hadn't been sitting for but a moment before Mrs. Weasley dropped heaping plates of food in front of them. Harry had gone full days with less food at the Dursley's than Mrs. Weasley put in front of them. They thanked her and began eating.

Ginny plopped down across from Harry a minute later, giving him a casual glance, then turning to take a plate of her own from her mother.

"Have a good trip then?" she asked.

"Not bad," Harry said through a mouthful of potato.

"Dumbledore brought him," Ron said, almost indecipherably. Hermione elbowed him for trying to talk with so much food in his mouth.

"Nice to have you here. Maybe you can keep Ron from driving the rest of the house mad with his ogling," Ginny said. Ron protested but received no support, just a blank stare from Hermione that said she didn't disagree.

Harry took a moment to study Ginny. Unlike the rest of the house she appeared well-put together; her face was clean, her hair brushed and shining, even her pajamas were neat, looking almost not slept in. It was a stark contrast to her parents and brothers who looked as if they had just rolled out of bed. She had become awfully pretty, Harry thought. Not at all the shy girl she had been when Harry had first visited the Burrow. She seemed poised, confident, and definitely had no trouble making her opinion known.

There was some misfortune in her newfound confidence. Harry doubted that the crush she had on him that she had been harboring for years survived her personality shift. He wasn't sure that he wanted to go out with Ginny on an actual date, especially seeing as she was Ron's sister, and in light of his disastrous date with Cho the year before, but she was strangely compelling, even so early in the morning. Perhaps it was her self-assurance in the midst of so much disorder, he mused.

"I have not been ogling her," Ron said, having swallowed the last of his enormous bite of food.

"You were almost drooling yesterday," Ginny said. "Hermione?"

"There was some drool," Hermione confirmed.

Ron grumbled and comforted himself by getting another plate of food. Harry's curiosity was piqued. He hadn't thought anyone else was at the Burrow.

"Who has Ron been ogling?" Harry asked. He hoped it wasn't Ginny. That would be odd, even for Ron.

His question was answered without Hermione or Ginny's input. Fleur glided into the room, wearing a deep blue robe that did nothing to hide the shape of her body, her hair as neatly arranged as Ginny's but without looking like it had taken her the slightest effort. If she had heard Harry's question she made no sign of it. Natural was the word Harry would have to use to describe Fleur. She made things seem effortless.

Though Harry hadn't expected her to be there she was evidently unsurprised to see him. "Hello, Harry," she said. Mrs. Weasley set a plate down in front of her. Harry didn't miss the much smaller portions.

"Hello, Fleur," he said.

"I don't know if we told you, Harry. Fleur and Bill were both working for Gringotts, Bill as a curse-breaker and Fleur as a liaison, and they started seeing each other. They got engaged just a few weeks ago," Mrs. Weasley said.

The slight enthusiasm in her voice was clearly forced. Harry failed to see the problem but he supposed there was one from the looks that Ginny, Hermione, and Mrs. Weasley were shooting Fleur when she wasn't looking. Even Mr. Weasley didn't offer his usually chipper greeting. The twins bucked the family trend by saying hello but they made no effort engage Fleur in conversation.

"Congratulations, that must be exciting," Harry said, somewhat awkwardly. He felt as if everything he could say would be scrutinized by both parties to see if it aligned with their positions, but he wasn't going to be cold to Fleur unless he had a good reason to be. He figured that as a fellow Triwizard Champion he owed her at least that much.

"Very exciting," Fleur said, without any enthusiasm. It was if the combined negativity of Hermione and the Weasleys was stealing the joy from the room. She was as beautiful as Harry remembered but it was a melancholy beauty; she had no illusions about how unwanted she was at the Burrow, Harry could see.

"Where's Bill then?" Harry asked.

Mr. Weasley spoke up. "He got asked away to participate in an enormous excavation in Egypt. We're not sure how long he'll be away but we're very proud of him. Only the best curse-breakers at Gringotts were asked to go."

Harry made the appropriate congratulations and wondered why Fleur wasn't getting ready to go to work. Mr. Weasley was dressed in his usual Ministry robes but Fleur didn't appear rushed. She was lackadaisically eating her breakfast, still in her morning robe.

Ginny supplied the answer to Harry's unasked question. "Gringotts has a no spouse policy. The goblins have dozens of ridiculous rules like that. Greedy little buggers. Fleur had to quit so that Bill could keep doing his job."

"I did not have to quit. I chose to quit," Fleur corrected. It said in the way that an objection that's been made a hundred times is repeated.

There was awkward pause. "Your English has improved," Harry said, trying to ease the tension. He wasn't sure what was going on with the Weasleys, who were normally so welcoming, but he was determined to figure it out after breakfast. Even Ron wasn't making any attempt to make Fleur comfortable, though Harry suspected that had to do with his own discomfort around her. None of them had forgotten his disastrous attempt at asking her to the Yule Ball their fourth year.

"Thank you, Harry," Fleur said. Her accent was still noticeable, she wouldn't be passing for English any time soon, but she didn't drop syllables anymore; it was a much subtler accent. Harry liked it. It made the banal sound interesting.

They ate in silence for another minute before Fleur said, "I do have a new job." She was looking at Harry. "Professor Dumbledore asked me to restart Hogwarts' Dueling Club and host it a few nights every week. It's supposed to help teach Hogwarts' students how to defend themselves. He said that he was inspired by your example last year, when you were resisting the woman from the Ministry." Fleur smiled at him. It was wide, white, and made Harry's stomach swerve. Her veela charm didn't affect him like it did others but she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. "Since you are my unofficial predecessor and a fellow Triwizard champion I was hoping that I could pick your brain later."

"Sure, that'd be great. Good idea from Dumbledore. People learned loads last year in the DA," Harry said.

"Well, we had a great teacher," Ginny said. Harry gave her a small smile, pleased at her flattery. He wasn't blind to the tug of war being played out in front of him—the Weasleys on one side and Fleur on the other—but he wouldn't turn down praise. The DA was, in his mind, his greatest achievement. It would help his friends stay alive during the war.

Mr. Weasley took one last look at the clock, folded up his newspaper, and left for work. The rest of the table took that as their sign to clean up, depositing their plates in the sink for Mrs. Weasley to clean. Or at least charm a brush to clean.

The twins, unusually subdued, retreated back to their room. Fleur sauntered out of the room after them. Ron's eyes were fastened on her retreating figure. Fleur had the kind of svelte swagger that sold beauty products on TV; an unattainable, natural born beauty. Hermione gave Ron another elbow.

"Bloody hell, Hermione," Ron said.

"Eyes above her waist, Ronald," she said. Ron went to sit back down at the table, as far away from Hermione as he could. None of them looked eager to go upstairs.

"Stuck up French bint," Ginny said. Mrs. Weasley didn't bother to reprimand her daughter.

"I thought I detected some tension," Harry said dryly.

"She's vain and cruel," Hermione said.

Hermione's remark set Ginny off. "I don't understand what Bill sees in her. She complains about the food. She complains about the Burrow. She complains about the weather. She complains about her time at Hogwarts. If everything was better in France she should've just stayed there. She can't even be bothered to be polite to the rest of us. The twins pranked her, just a little one, not even that bad, more like a welcome to the family sort of prank, and she hexed them viciously. Mom made her a Weasley sweater and she hasn't worn it once. She looked at it like it was a rag. Every time I come in the room she starts picking apart my clothes and my hair. Fleur thinks she's better than everyone. The only people who can stand her are Bill and Ron, and that's because they're both picturing her naked every time they look at her."

"She didn't seem that bad to me," Harry said.

"Of course she didn't, she loves you," Hermione said. "You're the famous Triwizard champion who saved her little sister. In Fleur's eyes you're probably some kind of a storybook hero."

Mrs. Weasley decided to chime in. "I'm sure staying with us this summer isn't what Fleur is used to but it wouldn't kill her to be a little nicer. We're all trying our best. I swear, Bill didn't know her six months before he announced they were engaged. The first time we met her was when he brought her home to announce the engagement."

None of what they were saying seemed at odds with what Harry remembered of Fleur. At Hogwarts she had struck him as rather prideful. He had never forgotten their first few interactions, before he had proved himself as a champion. Little boy, indeed.

It didn't beggar the imagination to suppose that Fleur wouldn't enjoy being deposited at the Burrow with her fiancé's family for the summer while he went off to Egypt. She had even given up her job for him. Boredom could only exacerbate the tension at the Burrow.

From what Harry remembered of Bill he seemed very grounded. It didn't seem likely that he would have moved on Fleur so quickly just for her beauty. It also didn't seem likely that Fleur would accept someone that was chasing her for her beauty. Harry was sure that there was another layer, one that would help to ease the conflict at the Burrow, and he was determined to bring it out. He didn't want the last week of summer to be torn apart by Weasley infighting.

"Fred and George seemed quiet," Harry said, deciding to change the subject.

"They're planning to move out," Ron said. "They've got an apartment in Diagon Alley. Between that and the joke shop they're pretty busy recently. Not a lot of time for pranks and jokes at home."

The twins realizing their dream of opening a joke shop heartened Harry. He liked to know that the money he had given them didn't go to waste. They had certainly done more with it than he was ever going to. Despite, or perhaps because of their slap-dash pranking, the twins were clever, and Harry had never doubted that they would adjust to the business world well, if only in their own way.

"I still think that we should check out the Dueling Club," Ron said, returning to the subject that Harry had been trying to guide them away from. Talking about Fleur was only going to further agitate Ginny and Hermione. Ron was many things but adept at picking out conversational pitfalls was not one of them.

"Check out the Dueling Club or check out Fleur?" Ginny said.

Ron flushed and Harry felt obligated to go to his defense. "Ron's right. Even if Fleur is stuck up and mean that doesn't mean we shouldn't go to the Dueling Club. It sets a bad tone if the founders of the DA don't go to the new Dueling Club. We want as many people to be prepared for Voldemort as possible."

Mrs. Weasley had taken to cleaning the dishes by hand, so as to have an excuse to listen in on their conversation. She was doing a poor job. It was clear to Harry that she had never had to wash dishes by hand in her life.

Hermione, disappointed as she was by the prospect of spending any more time than she had to with Fleur, agreed with Harry. He had suspected she would. Deep down Hermione was just too practical not to see the value in getting people to protect themselves. Ginny was a Weasley, and with that came a certain temperament, meaning she was still unconvinced, but Harry thought that time would bring her around. The prospect of demonstrating her talent in front of Fleur could always be dangled in front of her if all else failed, Harry thought.

"I think it's wonderful that Professor Dumbledore is helping students defend themselves. What you four did last year was good but it will be nice to be able to get together and learn without anyone at the school trying to get you in trouble. I do think that they might have been able to get someone a bit more…qualified," Mrs. Weasley said.

"Fleur was Beaxbautons' Triwizard Champion. I'm sure she's got plenty of talent," Harry said. He didn't like disagreeing with Mrs. Weasley but calling Fleur unqualified to help a bunch of students learn the Shield Charm and Stunning Spell bordered on the ridiculous.

"It's not as if she did well in the tournament," Ginny said.

"No. And it was lucky for her that she didn't," Harry said. Ginny, rightly, looked ashamed at herself. Harry still thought about Cedric and what Voldemort had done to him. It wouldn't do for anyone else to forget it either. Resistance needed the fire of indignation to power it. Cedric was fuel for that fire.

Before anyone said anything else there was a knock on the window. A pair of Hogwarts owls were perched outside the kitchen window. Mrs. Weasley let them in and they flew onto the kitchen table, a number of letters tied to their legs.

Ron and Harry scrambled to untie them; they had been waiting for their O.W.L. grades for months. As soon as the owls were freed of their burdens they went screeching back out the window.

Without saying a word Harry and Ron distributed the letters. One for Ginny. One for Hermione. One for themselves. In a solemn silence they opened their letters.

Harry scanned his letter. There was the usual unimportant preface, then exactly what he was dreading. Seven O.W.L.s. The key grade he needed wasn't there. Next to Potions there was an Exceeds Expectations.

Snape only allowed students who received Outstandings to continue Potions at the N.E.W.T. level. Harry's dream of being an auror, one he had been building up over the summer, something that he had genuinely thought he would be good at, flatlined.

Sounding somewhat nervy, Ginny asked, "How did everyone do?"

With typical Weasley boldness Ron responded first. "Seven O.W.L.s." Mrs. Weasley let out an appreciative screech and grappled Ron, hugging him tight enough that he looked to be having trouble breathing.

"Same," Harry said.

"Good job," Ginny said, giving him a kind smile, as if in apology for her earlier behavior. Mrs. Weasley didn't let Harry slide either, giving him the same hug she had given Ron. It was suffocating, but gratifying.

"Hermione?" Ron asked.

"I got ten O.W.L.s," Hermione said.

Harry and Ron laughed. Ginny and Mrs. Weasley looked astounded.

"I've never heard of someone who got ten O.W.L.s before," Mrs. Weasley said.

"Good job, Hermione," Ron said. She blushed. Harry could tell that she was proud of herself. For someone like Hermione that would be enough validation to keep her moving for years.

"We have to celebrate. I'll whip up something special for dinner tonight," Mrs. Weasley said. She scurried out of the room. With a pat on the back for Hermione, Ginny followed.

"Ten O.W.L.s. I wonder how many Dumbledore got," Harry said.

"Probably not ten," Ron said. He was all smiles and cheer. Though the Weasley boys would never admit to it, Harry had noticed that they were at their best when they had received praise from their mother. Percy was the only possible exception; even the twins valued their mother's input.

"How did you do in Potions, Harry?" Hermione asked. They had been writing letters back and forth over the summer, much more regularly than Ron had been (Hermione being a prolific letter writer and Harry having nothing better to do while at the Dursley's), and Harry had mentioned a few time his desire to give auror training a try. Hermione had been supportive. She was always encouraged when Harry mentioned any desire that had to do with school. He thought she was always hoping that he or Ron would spontaneously develop the kind of love for studying that she had.

"Exceeds Expectations," Harry said. He tried not to show how much that hurt to admit. In only one respect did Harry think that the muggles had things right; they didn't start crushing your dreams until you were eighteen.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," Hermione said. She really was, he knew. Harry could always count on Hermione for genuine feeling. Pity only made him feel worse, though. It was an acknowledgement of a failure that rested solely on his shoulders.

"It's alright. I wasn't getting my hopes up. Potions has never been my best subject. It was just a thought for something to do. Seemed to match up with my interests is all."

"There'll be something else," Hermione promised. Harry nodded.

Ron had been watching the back-and-forth and seemed a little confused, but was too elated by his seven O.W.L.s to be put out by that. He had been told about Harry's desire to become an auror but had evidently forgotten at some point.

"I think that mum wanted us to get rid of the garden gnomes," Ron said.

The three of them went outside and went trolling through the garden, looking for the pesky gnomes and sending them flying when they found them. Ron was more enthusiastic than usual. Harry was putting in the absolute minimum required level of work and trusting that Ron would make up for him. Hermione kept an eye on him, seeming to be worried about him.

Harry felt that it was cruel to have a possibility for the rest of his life closed off so early. Surely a one letter difference in one class couldn't determine whether or not he would be a competent auror. It was ridiculous to suppose that the job could be simplified to such a degree. Snape was, yet again, holding him back arbitrarily. Harry thought, and he resented himself a little for thinking so, that if he was careful he would be able to leverage his fame to get a job in the Auror's Office. It would be a case of his fame finally doing something for him, as opposed to doing something to him, as was usually the case. Harry tore a particularly annoying garden gnome from its hiding spot and sent it sailing over the fence.

There weren't a lot of jobs in the wizarding world that appealed to Harry. Many of them were governmental, since many service and industrial jobs in the muggle world could be replaced by magic, and becoming a pencil pusher in some forgotten office in the Ministry didn't appeal to him. He supposed that he could always aim to become a teacher, but with the Defense Against the Dark Arts position jinxed that meant he would have a job for a year or be forced to teach something else. Assuming that a position was even open.

He scrolled through the possible list of jobs in his head while the three of them canvassed the garden for any gnomes. None appealed to him as much as being an auror did. When Ron was satisfied that they had gotten most of them they went inside, where Hermione announced that she was going to take a shower and Ron decided to see if he could finagle a new broom out of his mother while she was in a good mood.

With nothing better to do, Harry decided to go see Fleur. She had expressed an interest in his opinion of the Dueling Club and he felt that that was something he was qualified to talk about. Harry also felt somewhat guilty that Fleur was so isolated from everyone else in the house.

Having lived with people that hated his guts, Harry was familiar with how exhausted and downtrodden you could become after a while. Even if Fleur was being prissy to people that wasn't a reason to treat her like dirt. If she was marrying Bill that meant she would be in the family, whether they liked it or not.

He went upstairs to the guest room, where Fleur was staying, and knocked on the door. With a muffled shout she told him to enter.

Despite how long Fleur had been staying with the Weasley's the room was barren. There were no pictures or posters and her clothes remained in two huge trunks by the wall. It had the look Harry associated with a hotel rather than the Burrow. Fleur was sitting on her bed, a book in hand. She put it down when Harry came in, marking her spot with a spare quill.

"I'm sorry I don't have much to offer you in the way of hospitality," Fleur said.

Knowing that her lack of hospitality reflected more on Mrs. Weasley than it did on her, Harry said, "That's more what I'm used to anyway."

Fleur had changed out of her bathrobe (Harry was mildly disappointed) into a pair of stylish robes, cut cleanly in a way that was neither suggestive nor prudish. It was very French, Harry decided.

"I was hoping that you would be able to tell me about what the DA was like. I don't have much experience with Hogwarts' curriculum, beyond what you did at the Triwizard Tournament, and I'd like to know if what I'm planning on teaching is superfluous." She held out a piece of parchment with some spells written on it to Harry. He glanced through it and saw the standard array of spells; Stunning Spell, Disarming Spell, Shield Charm, and so on.

"What years are you planning on working with?" Harry asked.

"Fourth through seventh. I was planning on fifth through seventh but then I remembered your performance in the Triwizard Tournament and decided to lower it." She smiled prettily. Harry had the feeling that the Fleur he was seeing was not the Fleur that the Weasleys had been seeing.

"What about the younger students?" Harry asked, trying not to be too distracted by her smile.

"They won't be able to learn any spells that will be worth the time spent teaching them. It's better if they just stay out of trouble."

Harry frowned. "Britain will be at war. I'm not sure that they'll all have the choice of just staying out of things. Isn't it better to take anyone who wants to join? They don't all have to be learning the same spells or at the same speed, but even one spell could give them a better shot at getting through a bind."

"I won't have the time to teach seven years," Fleur said, frowning. "That's too many, even if I break up the meetings."

"It just doesn't seem right to me to limit who can join," Harry said.

Fleur looked contemplative before a sly smile stretched over her face. "If you're so interested in making sure they get a shot then I may have a solution we'll both like."

Harry raised an eyebrow warily, almost put off by Fleur's self-satisfied look. "And what would that be?" he asked.

"You help me. As my assistant. Just like you were last year. If you handle most of the teaching for the younger students then there's no reason we can't include them. I'll help, of course. That would make it easier on everyone," Fleur said.

"I don't know. I'm already expecting to be the quidditch captain, along with all of my other work."

"Doesn't this seem a little more important than quidditch," Fleur wheedled. "You don't have to decide right now. Just think about it and let me know."

"I will," Harry promised.

"Excellent." Fleur seemed satisfied, as if he had already agreed. Or maybe she was just happier in general. A civil conversation with Harry was probably the best she could hope for while she stayed at the Burrow.

"I'm sorry that Bill couldn't be here. It must be hard on you," Harry said.

"Yes. It was…unexpected," Fleur said, her mood darkening.

"The Weasleys are usually very welcoming. They practically took me in when I became friends with Ron." He wasn't sure why but Harry wanted to make sure that Fleur knew the Weasleys were good people. If he could get her to tone down her snobbyness just a little he was sure that he could get everyone to patch up their relationship with her. That would make both their stays at the Burrow much more relaxing.

Fleur, however, didn't seem interested in reconciliation. "They hate me. They hated me the moment Bill brought me home. Every one of them thinks I'm spoiled, condescending, and mean. I tried to be nice, help Ginevra with her hair and clothes, gave Mrs. Weasley some French recipes, and make conversation with Ronald, but they all took it the wrong way. The girl and her mother snapped at me and he just drooled," she said disgustedly.

Harry winced, knowing that Ron didn't handle himself well around Fleur. Or pretty girls in general. "The twins even tried to put smoke bombs in my room," Fleur continued. "When I hexed them their family acted as if I was the one at fault. I don't know what they want from me. And then Bill left. He left me here with strangers who hate me."

Her outburst was surprising, given how self-contained Fleur had always seemed, and Harry wasn't quite sure how to respond. Sudden bursts of emotion from girls had always given him trouble. He supposed that he should have taken the hint with Cho and started practicing.

"I shouldn't be burdening you with my troubles," she said.

"If I can help you then I want to," Harry said. He paused, trying to think of how best to phrase his advice. "The Weasleys don't want help. They're proud of their family, each other, and they like the way they live. When you offered to help it offended their pride and made them think you were looking down on them. And the twins prank people. It's just what they do."

"That seems rather closed minded."

"Maybe. But I don't think trying to change them the first time you meet them is the best way of going about things. If you give them an olive branch, any excuse to like you, they will. They're forgiving people, especially Mrs. Weasley. I can't promise she'll love you but it will definitely be better than hiding in the guest room while everyone else enjoys the last few days of break."

Fleur looked around the room, then back at Harry. "I suppose you're right. I've already read all of the books I brought with me and I was starting to get bored."

Harry walked over to her dresser and picked up the book she had been reading. _Hogwarts: A History_. "If you want to patch things up with Hermione all you have to do is mention this book. She loves it. Must've read it a dozen times."

"I don't think I've done anything to upset Hermione," Fleur said.

Shrugging, Harry said, "Well she'll love you for mentioning it then." He wondered what had made Hermione dislike Fleur so much.

"I worry sometimes that Bill is expecting someone like his mother. That's something I could never be. A housewife, cooking and cleaning and waiting for my husband to come home. I would rather die. I hate burdening you by telling you this I've been completely alone the last month with nobody to talk to. And we went through something together, even if we were competitors."

"The Triwizard Tournament isn't something I like to think about, and I'm sure that isn't what Bill expects from you. He wouldn't have offered to marry you if he didn't love you the way you are." Having never felt the desire to marry anyone before, Harry wasn't sure that what he was saying was true, but it sounded vaguely romantic to him.

"No? I already had to give up my job for him. He didn't even consider that he might be the one to sacrifice for me. If Professor Dumbledore hadn't found out that I was available when he came one night there's no telling how long I would have remained unemployed and alone."

"From what Ron tells me Bill just sounds focused; a little single-minded at times," Harry said.

"He is that," Fleur said. She paused, collected herself, then said, "But I've talked too much about myself. It's rude and we don't even know each other that well. I feel as if I'm embarrassed myself." She didn't look embarrassed in the slightest.

"You haven't," Harry assured her.

"I have. That means you have to tell me something personal, so that we're on an even playing field; both embarrassed. Otherwise I won't be able to bring myself to ever talk to you again and that could present some difficulties seeing as you are my helper for the Dueling Club." She was teasing him but her demand was real. Since she didn't actually seem embarrassed Harry took it for the attempt to learn about him that it no doubt was.

"There's no need for that," Harry said.

Fleur's eyes, sharp and blue, undimmed by any compromising color, bore into his own. They were haughty eyes and he felt as if they were compelling him, commanding him. "I insist" she said. Her tone didn't change but her eyes said everything he needed to know. Harry almost shivered.

"I wanted to be an auror. Not since I was a kid or anything, but it was something I thought I would be good at. And I just got my grades back from last year and I didn't do well enough in one class to continue it at the highest level, which is a requirement for being an auror. So I'll have to find something else to do," Harry said.

"We've both lost our jobs then," Fleur said.

"It's silly. I don't even know that I would have liked it. It was just a thought."

"It's not silly but what is foolish is that someone as talented as you isn't able to have their pick of the jobs in the Ministry. You've accomplished more by sixteen than any of them."

"Thanks," Harry said. Color was seeping into his cheeks. Fleur was speaking forcefully, as if to indelibly write her words in his mind. He had her full attention.

"I have an uncle, over in France, who desperately wanted to be a politician. He thought he would be able to do a lot of good for the country. The problem is that my uncle can't speak in public. He ran for office many times but lost every time. Eventually, he gave up. He said that he realized he just wasn't cut out for it. Rather than go into politics, he became a magical researcher. Wards, to be precise. He became very famous in his field, renowned throughout the world for his research. There isn't a major conference where isn't he isn't one of the headliners. The point being, you may have had a dream, and found yourself unable to pursue it, but that doesn't mean you won't be able to accomplish wonders. Maybe there's something even greater out there, just waiting for you."

"It's a nice thought."

"It doesn't have to just be a thought."

"Why come to England?" Harry asked. It was a rapid subject change but the question had been eating at him all night. Fleur was talented and intelligent and beautiful. She didn't like England. There wasn't really any reason for her to be there. And yet she was at the Burrow, waiting to be married to an Englishman.

Fleur deliberated for a moment, seeming to choose her words with great care. "I heard about what was going on here in England, with you claiming that Voldemort was back. Because of what happened to me during the tournament I felt as if I still had a part to play, like I was involved in things. I know it's not rational but it seemed obvious to me that I needed to come back and see how things developed for myself. I got a job at Gringotts, heard about Voldemort coming back into the open, met Bill, fell in love, and here I am."

"Here you are," Harry said.

Fleur straightened her robes and said, "Isn't that better than tiptoeing around each other for the next month? Revealing embarrassing, potentially dangerous knowledge to someone you know only superficially is the best way to make a friend."

"Makes me wonder why people don't do it this way every time," Harry said.

"Yes. Now all we have to do is change the opinion that the entire Weasley family has of me," Fleur said. She looked more amused than daunted at the task ahead of them.

"No small task," Harry said, laughing.

"That's why I'll need your help every step along the way," she said.

"I would be honored."

"I feel as if I owe you something for your help," Fleur said, more seriously. "I've been in a mood for the past month. Part of this is all my fault. Most of it even. You've helped me see that."

"You don't owe me anything," Harry said.

"Maybe not, but I'd love to have someone to talk to about this." Fleur walked over to one of her trunks, pulled out a book, and handed it to Harry. _Advanced Inanimate Charms_ , he read.

"Light reading."

"You always need something to be thinking about," Fleur said.

"Hermione might be who you want for something like this," he said.

"Your friend is brilliant, but sometimes magic requires a more practical touch. From what I've seen you have no trouble with that side of things." Fleur pushed the book at him even more insistently.

"I'll give it a look," Harry promised. It was heavier than he had expected, sinking into his hands. Harry had a feeling he had just pledged away a lot of his last week.

"Learning things is nice but having someone to talk to about what you've learned is even better. I shouldn't keep you any longer. I'm sure that your friends are wondering where you are. I've…enjoyed our conversation, Harry."

"Me too," Harry said. She bid him farewell with another smile and he left, book in hand. Before returning to Ron and Hermione he stashed the book in his trunk, planning to read it later. No doubt Hermione and Ginny would give him hell if they found out that he was reading a book that Fleur had given to him. He would get lumped into the same category as Ron, albeit with less drool.

* * *

Fleur was partially successful in patching up her relationship with the Weasleys. She apologized to the twins for hexing them and helped them with a problem they were having with one of the charms on their gags and lent Mrs. Weasley a hand with making her special dinner while refraining from critiquing English cuisine (though Harry had noticed her nose crinkle a few times when Mrs. Weasley wasn't looking).

Despite her best efforts, however, she wasn't able to do much to improve Ginny's opinion of her. Every time Fleur tried to do something helpful or nice for someone Ginny dismissed it as a transparent ploy that only hid who Fleur really was.

The rest of the Weasleys seemed to finally accept Fleur as a future member of the family. Mr. Weasley accepted the change of mind that his family had and began talking more animatedly to Fleur at meals, telling stories about Bill when he was younger that left Fleur in stitches. Ron tried to overcome his shyness around Fleur by contributing to the stories. He was successful more often than not.

Harry spent most of his time with Ron and Hermione. When he told them that Fleur wanted him to help her with the new Dueling Club they had been supportive.

"You are the most qualified," Hermione said.

"Yeah, you practically ran Dumbledore's Army by yourself. She'd be barmy if she didn't ask you for help. There'll be kids showing up just because they hear that you're going to be there," Ron said.

"I don't want to distract people. The whole point of this is to help them learn to defend themselves," Harry said.

"They will," Hermione assured him. "Once they get there and see how important it is to learn to protect themselves they'll forget all about you."

"Besides, I reckon they'll be too busy staring at her to stare at you, mate," Ron said. Hermione, becoming used to Ron's comments about Fleur, didn't even bother to give him a smack.

Because Fleur had promised the Harry was going to be in charge of the younger students Hermione helped Harry to draw up a list of spells that it would be imperative to teach them. It was difficult to find spells that even first years would be able to learn, and that would still be useful for third years, but after scouring their old schoolbooks the two of them were able to come up with a sizable list that Harry would whittle down.

Hermione had expressed her concern that Harry wouldn't be able to manage all of his commitments well. He was the quidditch captain, Fleur's assistant for the Dueling Club, taking private lessons with Dumbledore, and had all of his usual, post O.W.L. work along with that. She reminded him of how stressed she had been during their third year, when she was taking every possible class, and said that he didn't even have a time turner to help him out.

Harry managed to placate her but he was concerned about his schedule as well. He suspected that it would come to down whatever he was least reluctant to drop. Ron would say he should give up on homework, Ginny the Dueling Club, and Hermione quidditch. Harry wished that he could be so definitive. Before he committed to dropping any of them Harry decided to see if he could balance it all in his schedule.

When he wasn't working with Hermione or entertaining himself with Ron, Harry read through the charms book that Fleur had given him. It was more interesting than he had expected. Harry doubted he would ever become Hermione, reading textbooks in his spare time, but the book gave him some ideas for how to improve his own use of charms. Harry didn't miss that a lot of the more advanced charms work had dueling applications. Fleur hadn't given him the book on a whim.

Once Harry had read a significant portion of the book he began talking to Fleur about it. She was startlingly clever. There were entire chunks of the book that Harry had misunderstood or not fully grasped that Fleur was able to set him straight about. She admitted that she had read the book a few times before, but Harry wasn't sure that he believed her.

Fleur was too savvy to ever make someone she didn't dislike feel bad about themselves because of her. She wasn't nice so much as she just wanted people to like her, Harry noticed. Fleur was odd in that respect. She could go from entirely self-contained, sure of herself, and needing no validation from anyone else, to going out of her way to do nice things so that she would be appreciated.

Talking about the book wasn't quite a tutoring session. Harry was able to make astute comments of his own; he saw things in the book in a different light than Fleur did. Often in a more offensive light. Where she saw charms as an end in of themselves, Harry saw the multiplicity of ways that they could be used. The great strength of charms, Harry had always thought, came from their versatility, and that versatility only increased with the more advanced charms.

So that Harry got some practical experience Fleur demonstrated some of the spells to him. It wasn't as good as performing the spells himself but there was something to be gained from watching how it was done.

Ginny noticed how much time Harry was spending with Fleur and pulled him aside after a few days.

"I thought my brother was bad enough. Now you too?"

"Everyone else has gotten over their rocky start with Fleur. Don't you think that you should give her a chance? She's been trying to be more approachable."

"Because you told her to be, no doubt. You're the only one here she'll deign to spend any time with. Sure, she's nice to everybody else, but that's only because she's marrying Bill. She doesn't actually like us. You though, she really likes you. She's ensnared you the same way she did Bill, with her perfect smile and hair."

Harry was frustrated with Ginny. She had been rather vile the entire time Harry had been at the Burrow. Her distaste for Fleur had put her in a permanently bad mood and even Ron couldn't say why Ginny disliked Fleur so much. Harry doubted it was all due to Fleur's less than tactful comments at the beginning of the month.

"You're being cruel, Ginny. She's not an airhead and she's not some master manipulator out to get anyone. She gave me a charms book and we've been talking about it. Your brother saw something in her; enough that he wants to marry her. Why can't you look for what he saw?"

"I'm not sure he actually saw anything in her beyond her looks. It's not as if he's here now. He went back to his job as soon as she agreed to marry him. Some relationship they have."

Deciding to end the conversation, Harry said, "You can be upset with Fleur if you want but I don't think she's done anything to deserve it and neither do Ron and Hermione. They've made their peace with her. You should too." And he left.

Ginny's behavior was a mystery to Harry. It only got worse the longer he stayed with the Burrow. She went from ignoring Fleur, to making passive aggressive comments, to being downright vindictive. Mrs. Weasley had to take her aside at one point and talk to her about her behavior.

A few days before Hogwarts was going to start the twins moved out of the Burrow. Mrs. Weasley got teary eyed, Mr. Weasley seemed proud of them, and Ron and Harry got roped into helping them move their things, for which Ron got pranked. The twins assured Harry that as their silent partner he was excluded from such treatment.

They had taken a nice flat in muggle London, a short walk from Diagon Alley. Apparently it was safer than living on the alley itself and close enough that they wouldn't have far to go to work every morning. They made Harry promise to come visit their store when he came to Diagon Alley to pick up his school supplies.

With the twins gone Harry moved into their room, escaping Ron's snoring. The days at the Burrow blended together until, one morning, Mrs. Weasley announced that they would be going to Diagon Alley. Hermione had already picked up her school supplies with her parents but she would be coming along with Harry and the Weasleys while they picked out their supplies. Mrs. Weasley, rather kindly, in Harry's opinion, asked Fleur if she wanted to come. Fleur, having little else to do at the Burrow and seeming to relish a chance to get away, acquiesced. Ginny made a face.

Mrs. Weasley seemed nervous about going to Diagon Alley and ended up breaking their party into groups. She and Ginny went to go get books and she sent Hermione, Ron, and Harry to get any other various clothes or supplies that they needed. Fleur was free to go wherever she wanted so she quietly followed Harry, drawing more than a few stares from people as they passed by.

Harry was fond of Diagon Alley. It was a colorful, vibrant place; there was life in every corner and alleyway. The wizarding population, being so much smaller than the muggle population, didn't have a need for large population centers, so Diagon Alley was the closest wizards came to having a city. Mrs. Weasley had warned Harry that he would have an order member tailing him while he was at Diagon Alley, making sure he was safe. It was too dangerous to go without an escort but they figured too many would just draw attention to Harry. Fleur was a competent duelist as well, Harry had thought.

They had just exited the Leaky Cauldron, splitting from Mrs. Weasley and Ginny, when Hermione said, "I think we should go to the Apothecary and then swing by Madam Malkin's. If we have time we could visit Obscurus Books."

Harry and Ron exchanged a look.

"We could do that," Harry said.

"Or we could go to Quality Quidditch Supplies," Ron finished.

"I don't really need robes," Harry said.

"And we can order potions supplies through the mail," Ron said.

"And Hogwarts already has more books than we could ever read," Harry said.

"I should have guessed," Hermione said, huffing.

Harry could hear Fleur laughing behind them, a pleasing, delicate sound. She kept quiet when Harry was with his friends, observing them as if they were a different species. Not for the first time Harry wondered what her Beauxbatons experience had been like.

"Fred and George are expecting us to visit too," Harry said.

Harry and Ron speculated what the features of the newest Nimbus Broom would be and whether or not it could compete with the Firebolt while they walked to Quality Quidditch Supplies. Bored with their conversation Hermione dropped back to talk to Fleur. She had been interested when Harry had told her that Fleur was a master when it came to charms and Harry supposed that she was going to test just how much Fleur knew.

There were definite similarities between Fleur and Hermione; they were both intelligent, talented, and had an abiding love of learning. But Fleur saw learning as a means to an end. She wanted to become better than everyone around her, her talent and knowledge were just tools. In some ways, she was very Slytherin.

Harry didn't hold that against her. It would be hypocritical of him to dislike Slytherin qualities in others; he wasn't free of them himself, according to the Sorting Hat. And Fleur was a good person, or at least she tried to be. Haughtiness and a disregard for others came naturally to her (though why they did Harry didn't know) but she was able to keep them to a minimum when she tried.

They started debating the merits of partial transfiguration and Harry relaxed. He was always a bit on edge when Fleur began talking to someone who had had a low opinion of her, afraid that one misstep would send them all right back to the beginning. He needn't have worried. Fleur was more than capable of being charming.

She was probably the most socially adroit person that Harry had ever known when was trying to be; he sometimes thought that her supposed vulnerability when they had been talking his first day at the Burrow was just a ploy but he dismissed that thought. A month of loneliness would make anyone confide in the first welcoming person they met.

"I'm just saying that every time Nimbus makes a big leap forward, like they did with the Firebolt, the next broom they put out is a cheaper, slightly less advanced model, so that people who didn't want to shell out for the first broom have a more cost efficient model available," Ron said.

Harry jumped into the conversation where he had left off. "And I'm telling you that they didn't push the Firebolt as far as they could. I know there's more acceleration they can get out of it. I read that in _Quidditch Weekly_. The next model is going to be even better than the Firebolt. Cleansweep has become the cost efficient broom line; Nimbus is trying to become the deluxe racing broom gold standard."

"We'll see about that," Ron said.

The four of them spent about an hour at Quality Quidditch Supplies. Harry and Ron mingled with other enthusiasts, loudly debating the merits of different lines of brooms, while the unindoctrinated bought what they needed in a less boisterous manner. Fleur and Hermione continued their conversation in a corner of the store, Hermione's hands becoming progressively more animated as they talked.

Fleur seemed a little put off by Hermione's exuberance but Hermione didn't notice. Eventually Harry decided that he had to rescue Fleur from Hermione before she got talked into the ground. He and Ron were just going over the same points with the people in the shop anyway. Each time a point was settled someone new joined the fray and started opening up closed topics. Debating broom lines was a Sisyphean labor.

"If you want we can go to Madam Malkin's now," Harry offered to Fleur and Hermione.

"I could pick something up," Hermione said.

"Why don't you take Ronald and go," Fleur suggested. "Harry and I need to go get some books for the Dueling Club."

A little taken aback by people going to the bookstore without her, Hermione nonetheless followed Fleur's suggestion, grabbing Ron mid-sentence and dragging him out of the store, ignoring his protests. Harry and Fleur left more sedately.

"I think she likes you," Harry teased.

"She's certainly very…energetic," Fleur said.

"Ron and I still tell her that she should have been a Ravenclaw. Nobody enjoys knowing things for the sake of knowing them like Hermione."

"I've always been of the opinion that you should have a reason for learning things. Knowledge only has value in its applicability. Would you be debating the merits of different broomsticks if you couldn't fly any of them?"

"No. But can't you appreciate knowing something just for itself? Knowledge can be beautiful."

"Does beauty not serve a purpose?" Fleur asked. She batted her eyelashes at Harry flirtatiously.

Refusing to take the bait, Harry said, "Never."

"How unfortunate," Fleur said. She liked to tease Harry but he knew she wasn't being serious. He took it as a compliment that she was comfortable enough around him to act like that and know that he wouldn't take it the wrong way. Harry couldn't see her teasing Ron like that. He would have a heart attack.

Fleur went on. "Hermione is a nice girl. I'm not sure that we would have been friends if she had gone to Beauxbatons. Girls like that usually don't like competition in their studies. They'll help until they begin to fear that you will surpass them. Knowledge isn't a tool or a good in of itself; it's a means of validation for them."

"That's a cynical thought," Harry said.

"I'm not insulting her. It's just something I noticed when I was at school."

"You're analyzing my friends then. If that's what Hermione is then what's Ron?"

"He's a boy. A typical boy," Fleur said.

Harry paused. "Is that an insult?"

She just smiled enigmatically. "Here we are. I've been corresponding with Professor Flitwick and he recommended this bookshop over Flourish and Blotts. I was hoping that we would be able to find some short instructional texts on dueling and self-defense. Nothing too long. Students tend to skim if you hand them a big book."

"Students tend to skim if you hand them a book," Harry corrected.

Obscurus Books was an academic's wet dream. There were none of the popular books that plagued the shelves of Flourish and Blotts; there were only in depth treatises and theses by some of the greatest minds of the wizarding world, stretching deep into the half-lit interior of the store. Harry had avoided ever coming with Hermione, sure that once he entered the store with her he would never be able to drag her out. The entire place smelled like mildew and old books, though all of the books looked brand new. It was probably just a clever marketing ploy, Harry thought.

They wandered into the isles, pulling down a book when it looked like it could be a good fit. Fleur was intent on finding the perfect book, rejecting all of the ones Harry passed her way. She claimed that since the budget Dumbledore had given her only had room for one text for every student it had to be the perfect book.

"You've been getting on much better with the Weasleys," Harry said, after Fleur rejected his seventh suggestion.

"They're simple enough people. They just want some validation," Fleur said.

Harry thought that was a bit rude but didn't comment. Fleur's sense of superiority was intrinsic to her personality. She had once remarked to him that false modesty was hypocritical.

Fleur said, "Bill is very little like his family. He doesn't leer like Ronald, have Ginevra's temper, his mother's rusticity, or the twins' immaturity. It's only in looks that you could even tell they're related."

"Ginny still seems to be holding a grudge against you though."

"She's jealous of me and she's frustrated that I'm stealing her brother away. Bill is fond of her and they were close when she was younger."

"Frustration makes sense but jealous? You're beautiful Fleur, but that doesn't mean that every girl wants to be you."

She laughed, as if Harry had completely missed the point. "She isn't jealous of my looks. She's jealous that you've been giving me so much attention. Do you think she wakes up smelling like flowers and with her hair done every morning? Ginevra only began doing that when it became obvious that you were about to come to the Burrow. She was hoping you would notice her. Instead you 'took my side.' That's why she dislikes me so much."

"Ginny doesn't like me like that anymore and I'm not taking sides," Harry said.

"You may not see it but it's there. Bill could see her infatuation after five minutes spent with the two of you," Fleur said.

"From the way you talk about him Bill is the next Merlin. I don't know him all that well."

"He'll like you. Bill admires people who have talent. He told me once that after seeing you compete in the Triwizard Tournament he was surprised that you were Ronald's friend."

"Surprised?"

"Ronald is lazy and has decidedly average abilities," Fleur said. Again she was insulting and again she didn't seem to realize that it would be insulting. She stated it as if it was an everyday fact.

"We got the same number of O.W.L.s," Harry reminded her.

"Grades mean almost nothing. Accomplishments are everything."

"Ron has been with me every step along the way. He's confronted some of his greatest fears by my side and I wouldn't have chosen anyone else. There are people that are smarter, or more talented, or even more loyal, but Ron is my best friend. People aren't the sum of their talent, Fleur."

They looked in silence for a minute, Fleur sensing that she had been too callous, revealed too much of her thoughts. Harry was offended on Ron's behalf, but all the more so because he couldn't deny what Fleur was saying. Ron was his best friend, yes, but his faults were many. He had lapses in loyalty and the gap between his talent and that of others was often immense.

The only thing that hurts more than our own limitations is that of our friends, Harry thought.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Fleur said, not elaborating.

"Friendship and love count for more than talent in my book. Maybe one day you'll feel the same way," Harry said.

"Perhaps I will," Fleur replied. Harry handed her another book. She took it, glanced at the title, table of contents, and a few random pages, and then nodded. Fleur went over to the manager to speak with him, ostensibly to order another few dozen copies of the book, and then returned to him without the book, having handed it over.

"Shall we hunt down your friends?" she asked.

"Probably a good idea. If I now Ron and Hermione they're probably at each other's throats right now."

They started making their way to Madam Malkin's.

"Such tangled webs this Weasley family weaves," Fleur said. Again she looked smug, the same look Hermione would get when she knew the answer and nobody else did. It had always irritated Harry.

"Going to share more of your incredible insights with me?" he asked.

"They like each. She doesn't think he likes her and he doesn't know how to tell her that he likes her but the mutual attraction is there. The stolen glances, the passionate arguments about nothing just for attention, all of the clichés are there. You just have to open your eyes."

"I don't buy it. They've been acting like that since we were eleven," Harry said. His mind couldn't even entertain the notion that Ron and Hermione would get together. It was nonsense, but if it were true, it would change everything. They would go from a trio, to a duo and Harry, with every interaction becoming one in which Harry would be interfering, third wheeling. Better not to consider it at all.

"Just watch them," Fleur said. She was enjoying herself, with a devious smile and knowing eyes. "I have an outsider's perspective. You've been blinded by your friendship with them."

"I don't want to talk about this," Harry grumbled.

"Fine, I'll tell you about my plans for the Dueling Club then," Fleur said. Both of them knew that she had won that round. Harry wouldn't be able to help looking for signs that Ron and Hermione were interested in one another. His entire perception of their relationship had been changed.

Fleur was cruel and intelligent, proud and clever, condescending and talented. Harry could see why Bill would have fallen for her. Few women could pull off the combination of such displeasing and laudable traits with aplomb. Fleur was a mess of beautiful contradictions.

Harry listened to Fleur loosely explain her plans for the Dueling Club while they ambled back to Madam Malkin's. Their pace was sedate, both of them doing as much looking around as they did walking, and the conversation meandered, stopping and starting with every sight they took in. Fleur explained that she wanted to give the two groups, her own and Harry's, the basics of a core group of spells and then move on to dueling techniques; they would start with one on ones and then move to doubles and group dueling in an attempt to simulate real world situations.

The purpose was to teach them self-defense, not just a list of spells that they could rattle off. Fleur was of the opinion that if they couldn't hold up under spellfire then the entire Dueling Club would have been a waste of time.

While Fleur was going over her thoughts on teaching some rudimentary survival skills Harry saw something curious. Outside Flourish and Blotts Malfoy was crossing the street with scurrying steps, keeping tabs on who was watching him and who was around, a package under his arm. Seeing Malfoy at any point was enough to make Harry nervous but when he had such an anxious demeanor Harry was extra cautious. His fears were further amplified when Malfoy moved into Knockturn Alley. Nobody good ever intentionally went into Knockturn Alley, and nothing good ever came out.

His first instinct was to dive in after Malfoy; to follow him and make sure that he wasn't planning something dangerous. Malfoy had been a pest during Harry's time at Hogwarts but Voldemort's return changed everything. There was no telling what plan Malfoy might have come up with.

Harry barely noticed that Fleur had stopped talking. She was watching Malfoy as well, her eyes following Harry's.

"I remember him," she said.

"We need to find out what he's up to." Hermione would say that he was being a fool and Ron might accuse him of being paranoid but Harry knew that Malfoy was plotting something.

"No," Fleur said. Surprised, Harry turned to her. Her arms were folded over her chest and she was expressionless, bracing for a fight. One that Harry was willing to give her.

"No? He could be doing something for Voldemort." Harry hissed the Dark Lord's name, not wanting to attract the attention of anyone passing by.

"You're being followed by a member of the Order and you have me with you. If you go down there then I have to follow you. Two people, especially one who's part veela, can't remain unnoticed down there. Add in to that the fact that if the Order member watching you sees you going in there they'll mount a huge rescue operation to get you out, just in case. That means you'll be wasting everyone's time chasing after a teenage boy who's trying to pawn off some inconsequential dark artifact. Trust me Harry, this isn't worth our time. You have to put schoolyard rivalries behind you if you want to make something of yourself."

"This isn't some schoolyard rivalry," Harry said. He was angry that Fleur didn't seem to understand and was trivializing his concern. "Malfoy's entire family is in deep with Voldemort. He could be plotting to bring something back to Hogwarts. Something dangerous."

"And Professor Dumbledore has put measures in place to prevent things like that from entering the grounds," Fleur countered. "You're being obtuse. Take a breath, calm down, and enjoy our little walk. You won't get a break like this once we're back at Hogwarts."

His resistance was slipping away in the face of Fleur's seamless logic. She made him doubt himself and his observations. He thought the Weasleys were lovable and she thought them provincial. He thought Ron and Hermione often couldn't stand each other and Fleur said they were practically flirting. Now Harry thought that Malfoy was plotting something and Fleur said that he was overreacting. Their worldviews were different, drastically so, but he couldn't say that she was wrong. Perhaps, Harry thought, he _was_ overreacting. Malfoy wasn't some trained killer. He was a schoolyard bully, and not a very effective one at that.

"Fine," Harry said, holding on to some of his frustration. He needed to save some face in front of Fleur after all.

"Excellent, I would have hated to need to hex handsy vampires," Fleur said.

She bumped her shoulder against his amicably they walked back to Madam Malkin's. Harry was aware of her next to him the entire time, lovely and chattering. Her beauty was overwhelming sometimes to him. It made him uncomfortable and he knew that he acted differently around Fleur than around other girls, Hermione and Ginny being excellent examples.

He had to make a conscious effort not to change too much around her, not to pretend to be something he wasn't, and Harry thought that she was aware of the effect she had on him. He supposed that he wasn't unique in that respect. Perhaps that was what had attracted her to Bill, he mused. He didn't change. From what Harry had seen of Bill he seemed almost as confident as Fleur seemed herself. Like attracted like, Harry had heard once.

It was wrong to be attracted to Fleur, she had a fiancé, but he couldn't help himself. Physical closeness didn't seem to bother her. Fleur used her beauty as a carrot and a stick, offering bits and pieces when someone was good and withdrawing them when they were bad. Harry resolved not to become conditioned like other people were.

They were in front of Madam Malkin's and Harry stopped trying to figure Fleur out. He could save the psychoanalysis for when they got back to the Burrow. Fleur became quieter once they were around Ron and Hermione.

"Get any robes?" Harry asked Ron.

"Don't be a git," Ron said. Hermione had a few packages of her own but neither she nor Ron appeared in a good mood. Out of all of them, Fleur was the only one who appeared to be enjoying herself. Harry caught himself looking between Ron and Hermione, as if he would be able to see physical evidence of any budding relationship. Fleur was watching him and trying not to laugh. He valiantly resisted the urge to stick out his tongue at her.

"Come on, let's find my mum," Ron said. The three of them followed in his aggravated wake.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II**

"Ginny, make sure to remember your books!" Mrs. Weasley shouted.

"I'm getting them!"

The Weasley family had many skills. Planning ahead was not one of them. It was a tradition in the family to spend the morning before their return to Hogwarts running around, panicked and distraught, trying to find lost books, toiletries, and clothes.

Hermione, of course, had been packed for days. She was sitting in the kitchen, sipping at a cup of tea as Ron and Ginny were harangued by their mother. Harry already had most of his things together since he had only been staying at the Burrow for a week. He joined Hermione and she wordlessly poured him a cup of tea.

"I really thought this was the year we weren't going to have to rush," Harry said.

"Why was that?" Hermione asked, politely curious. She didn't seem to believe that anyone could think the Weasleys capable of being prepared on time.

"It's just Ron and Ginny coming back to Hogwarts this year and Ginny's usually pretty organized. With Mrs. Weasley on his case I thought Ron would be ready with time to spare. The twins used to take even longer than Ron and Ginny combined with how much stuff they brought back to Hogwarts."

"I think Ron picked up the slack this year," Hermione said. They watched as Ron rushed a loose handful of quills and inkpots outside where his trunk was set against the wall of the Burrow.

Fleur came into the kitchen, hair mussed, like she had just gotten out of bed. It was closing in on noon. Harry had noticed that Fleur wasn't an early riser. His uncle would say, with some relish, that she had the French work ethic. Fleur rose late and stayed up late, reading in her room by candlelight until early morning.

Harry had seen the light in her room late at night when he was outside with Ron practicing Ron's keeping skills one night. Ron had thought practicing in the dark would improve his focus and reflexes. Instead they just lost a bunch of makeshift quaffles.

"Not joining us on the express?" Harry asked.

Fleur poured herself a cup of tea and took a dainty sip of it, then said, "I can't stand trains. They're crowded, loud, and dirty."

"Not to mention infested with plebs," Harry quipped.

"That too."

Harry was a little envious. The Hogwarts Express had lost some of its charm as Harry got older. The trips were long and boring and all Harry could think about was the food waiting for him at the end of it. Hermione usually ended up reading most of the way and that meant Harry and Ron would have to find ways of entertaining themselves. Usually Ron would end up annoying Hermione and they would spend the whole time arguing.

Now that they were prefects it was even worse. Harry had to find other people to sit with. He wondered who Ginny would be sitting with. She was dating Dean Thomas but maybe she would sit with him on the way there. Even if it was out of pity it would be better than spending the trip by himself.

"Will you be at the welcoming feast?" Hermione asked.

"Yes. Professor Dumbledore promised that he would introduce me to the student body then and tell them about the Dueling Club," Fleur said.

"When's the first meeting?" Harry asked.

"I already told you," Fleur said, looking askance at him.

"Well I wasn't listening."

Fleur and Hermione sighed simultaneously. His question was ignored in favor of watching Ginny lug a suitcase down the stairs while Mrs. Weasley hovered behind her, keeping up an endless torrent of questions and reminders while the exasperated girl tried to outpace her. Ron was hiding outside in the hopes that his mother wouldn't notice him.

"I never knew that returning to school could be such an event," Fleur said.

"Oh, your trips to Beauxbatons weren't like this?" Harry said. The idea of Fleur rushing to anything was laughable. Her poise was unwavering.

"Not exactly." Fleur looked lost in memory. Harry couldn't imagine what it would be like to graduate Hogwarts. His entire wizarding experience had revolved around the place. He wondered if Fleur thought of Beauxbatons often and missed it like he was sure he would miss Hogwarts.

"The school sent portkeys to each student that would activate at a certain time. There was no Hogwarts Express. It was all very sensible." Fleur leveled a glance at Ron cringing as his mother yelled at him, as if to demonstrate how ridiculous Hogwarts' system was.

"To be fair, most students don't go through something like this. The Weasleys are just special," Harry said.

"So I've noticed," Fleur said, her expression making no secret of what she thought of the special Weasley brand of chaos.

It was another hour before Ginny and Ron were packed to Mrs. Weasley's satisfaction. Fleur had retired back to her room to shower and dress before her first appearance at Hogwarts. She had given Harry one last smirk as she was leaving, a reminder that he had to take the train while she would be apparating to Hogwarts. Part of him wanted to beg her to take him with her, a reprieve from the tedium and awkwardness that he was sure the trip would be, but his pride held him back. That and the idea of what Snape would say if he thought Harry was getting preferential treatment. The man was a menace when he had no reason to be; best not to give him any more ammunition.

When they got to Platform 9¾ the place had nearly cleared out. The train gave a warning whistle and the four of them had to rush to clamber aboard before it pulled away. Mrs. Weasley waved, inflated tears in her eyes, as the train pulled away. Soon the platform was nothing more than a nebulous mirage lost in the rushing landscape.

The four of them found an empty compartment near the front of the train. After lifting their luggage to the top rack Ron and Hermione gave Harry an apologetic look.

"We really should go to the prefect meeting," Hermione said.

"But we'll be back as soon as we can," Ron promised.

"It's fine. Go be role models," Harry said. It wasn't fine, of course. He would spend most of the trip by himself or fending off admirers but he wasn't going to beg them to stay. He just hoped that Malfoy didn't show up. Malfoy had always had an uncanny ability to figure out which compartment Harry was in. Being outnumbered three to one could give Malfoy the courage he needed to try something on the express. Harry had confidence in his abilities but three to one was never good odds for anyone.

Before he put his luggage on the top rack Harry pulled the book that Fleur had given him from it. He was almost finished. The book had been getting more complex the farther Harry got in it, each idea building on the last, and he figured the quiet of the train ride would be the best time to finish it. It required a great deal of concentration.

Next to him, Ginny cleared her throat. She held up her luggage in a wordless plea. Harry took it from her and racked it. She slumped back into the seat and stared at Harry.

"Most gentlemen would've offered to rack a lady's luggage without the hint," Ginny said. She delighted in torturing him and Harry could never to seem to get the better of her. It was a little game they played.

"I thought that you would be sitting with your friends," Harry said.

"And leave you here looking pathetic by yourself? I'm mean but not that mean. Besides, how could I leave our precious savior all by himself?"

"On second thought I think I'd prefer to be by myself."

Ginny rolled her eyes. She really was quite pretty, Harry noticed. Her hair looked silky, a burnished red, not quite as light and obnoxious as her siblings. He couldn't tell if it was natural or she darkened it herself. Whichever it was, it suited her. Her robes weren't shabby on her either.

Being the only girl in the family she didn't have to wear hand-me-down robes like her brothers. They fit her well and Harry, not for the first time, glanced over her athletic body. He didn't want to leer but he had definitely noticed how attractive Ginny had become during his time at the Burrow. She wasn't anything like that little girl he had rescued from the Chamber of Secrets.

"So, Mr. Quidditch Captain, when are tryouts this year?" Ginny asked.

Harry hoped he hadn't been staring. Ginny didn't give any indication that he had been but that didn't mean anything. If there was one thing Harry had observed as he got older it was that women were generally much more capable of hiding their thoughts than men; or at least than he and Ron were.

"I haven't decided yet," Harry said.

"That's alright, I suppose I don't have to worry about my spot, do I?"

"I was planning on everyone trying out for their positions. Wood would be never let me hear the end of it if he found out I had done anything less."

Ginny pouted, crossing her arms over her chest. It was a good look for her, Harry thought. He wasn't sure if she was doing it on purpose or not but he wasn't going to complain.

"No exceptions? Not even for your best friend's sister?"

"Not even for her," Harry said.

"Spoilsport. What's the point of being captain if you don't take advantage of it."

"McGonagall would put my head in a jar in her office I she thought I was demonstrating favoritism."

"Heads in jars is more Snape's thing, don't you think? McGonagall would just put you in detention for the rest of the year. With Snape."

"Thanks, Ginny."

She stuck out her tongue at him. There was a moment of silence; awkward silence, Harry thought, and he wasn't sure what to say next.

Ginny saved him from having to think of anything. "So you spent a lot of time with Fleur, right?"

"I'm not sure I would say a lot of time," Harry said.

"You don't need to be a lawyer, Harry. This isn't an interrogation. I just want to know what you think of her."

"So you can tell if she's good enough for Bill? Fleur mentioned that you two were close when you were younger."

"For Bill," Ginny confirmed, after a momentary pause. "Just give me a general overview. Nothing I already know. She's obviously gorgeous; you don't need to mention stuff like that."

Harry wasn't completely oblivious; he suspected that Ginny want him to say that Fleur wasn't _that_ beautiful or give her a compliment of her own, but he wasn't quite assured enough to go around complimenting girls like that. He ignored the opening and instead said, "She's smart and talented, better at magic than almost anyone else I know. But she's also proud and condescending. Snooty upper-class, almost."

"Guys like that sort of thing, don't they? Mum always says that some boys can't tell the difference between high-value and high-maintenance. It didn't seem to really bother you considering how much time you spent with her."

From the types of questions that Ginny was asking Harry got the feeling that they weren't really talking about Bill. Fleur's words came back to him; Ginny still liked him and she was jealous of how much time he was spending with Fleur.

He was hesitant to assume that was what Ginny felt. She had been acting so differently around him that he hadn't even considered that she might still like him, like Fleur seemed to think. But her liking him might not be such a bad thing, Harry thought. She was clever and pretty and confident. It was a little flattering to think that she might like him.

"Remember, I'm not the one that's marrying her. And I don't think that she's high maintenance. She just has different expectations than we do," Harry said.

"Higher expectations," Ginny said.

"That's not necessarily a bad thing. Bill likes her."

"I suppose. You think she's talented?"

"Sure. She was a Triwizard Champion and from what she was telling me about the charms book that I'm reading she knows her stuff too. Bill didn't go just for a pretty face, Ginny. I don't think you have anything to worry about. From the way that Fleur was talking about Bill she's enamored with him. She couldn't stop talking about how skilled and accomplished he is. I think they're in love and I don't think you have anything to worry about."

"She's beautiful, talented, and smart," Ginny said, as if in a daze. "Guess I have nothing to worry about then."

"Trust your brother," Harry said.

He had the feeling that Ginny hadn't been assured by their conversation at all. She looked a little glum, like unstated fears had been confirmed. It was the look someone would have if they found out someone they had a crush on liked someone else, Harry thought. Like if Ginny thought that he was enamored with Fleur, rather than her.

It felt vain to think something like that. All he had to go on was what Fleur had said and what he had observed so far on the train (which was admittedly very little), but what he saw fit. It was torturous, Harry decided, figuring out whether or not someone liked you. Like a game of chicken where you either ended up horribly humiliated or blissfully content.

There was a knock on the compartment door. It slid open and Luna walked in, blinking at Ginny and Harry. "There are an awful lot of Wrackspurts around you two," she said.

"Hello, Luna," Ginny said.

Luna sat down next to Ginny without bothering to wait for an invitation and said, "Thank you. The others in my last compartment didn't seem to like having me there very much. Their Wrackspurts were very agitated."

"Aren't ours agitated too?" Harry asked. Ginny glared at him for teasing her but Harry wasn't trying to make fun of Luna; he just found her amusing. He was actually fond of her. She had been to the Ministry with him. That was more than Harry could say of almost anyone else. It spoke to her bravery and loyalty.

"Yours aren't agitated, they're just confused, Harry. Ginny's are agitated though. They seem very upset by something," she said.

"They're very observant, these Wrackspurts," Ginny said.

"Yes. The _Quibbler_ says that Wrackspurts are the most observant semi-sentient magical creatures in existence," Luna said placidly. She had a pair of glasses resting on her head with bottle cap lenses. It was interesting, as far as fashion statements went.

Harry was glad for Luna's presence. Interacting with Ginny one-on-one while trying to figure out whether or not she liked him was stressful. He'd rather just ask Hermione. She spent a lot of time with Ginny and, well, she was a girl. If anyone would know it would be her or Mrs. Weasley, and Harry couldn't exactly go up to Mrs. Weasley and ask her if her daughter liked him. He resolved to corner Hermione when the opportunity arose.

Ginny and Luna started talking about the classes they were taking and comparing their schedules. Harry picked up the charms book and started reading where he had left off. Their conversation lowered to a dull drone that he easily turned out, losing himself in the explanations and theories concerning advanced charms. It was far less tedious than he had expected.

There was a gratification to learning things about magic that had never existed for muggle learning. When Harry learned a new spell or magical theory it was immediately applicable; he could go out and change the world around him with his new knowledge. It provided a lot of incentive for learning that had never existed during his muggle schooling years.

While reading through the book Harry came upon a few sections that he didn't understand but he figured that he could ask Flitwick or Fleur. They both took a childish delight in explaining things to him. Fleur may not have been thrilled that she had to give up her job at Gringotts but from the sound of it Harry thought she was better off. Fleur enjoyed teaching; her brightest smiles were reserved for when Harry finally grasped a topic that he had been struggling with.

When she was teaching Fleur was trying least to be charming, but it was precisely when she was teaching that Fleur was at her most charming. It was as if all of her haughtiness and pride were nothing but adopted shields that fell once she took a genuine interest in imparting knowledge. She was passionate about teaching and good at it. Harry could see Fleur taking over for Flitwick when he retired. She had the requisite knowledge and skill to teach Charms.

Thinking of Fleur made Harry consider Ginny. She thought that Harry was pining after Fleur, which Harry didn't think was true. Fleur had a whole litany of positive qualities and was absolutely the most beautiful woman Harry had ever seen but there was a disconnect between that and what he felt toward her. He attributed that to the Triwizard Tournament.

He couldn't help but associate Fleur with the whole fiasco, including what had happened to Cedric. Romantic feelings couldn't blossom in a graveyard, and a graveyard was all Harry saw when he thought about the Triwizard Tournament. No, Ginny had nothing to worry about between Harry and Fleur. He enjoyed her company and could see them becoming friends but nothing more than that.

Of course, the most obvious impediment to any romantic entanglement was that Fleur was engaged. Ginny seemed to be ignoring that fact. Though, to be fair, Harry thought, it was easier to forget that Fleur was engaged since Bill was nowhere to be found. Fleur had clearly been lonely at the Burrow until Harry came around, and it was precisely when people were at their most lonely and vulnerable that they made terrible decisions, like cheating on their fiancé. Harry gave more credit to Fleur than that though. He hadn't been lying to Ginny when he told her that she seemed absolutely devoted to Bill. Her tone had a certain warmth when she talked about him that only came out when she spoke of things she loved; France, her sister and parents, charms, and teaching.

No, Harry had no interest in romancing Fleur. He didn't think they would work well together, being too different, and that would irreparably damage his relationship with all of the Weasleys. Even if they weren't exactly enamored with Fleur they would still respond brutally to anyone who dared get between one of their own and his fiancé. Their trust was of paramount importance to Harry and he wouldn't risk it for anything, not even Fleur. It was just a matter of getting that across to Ginny without making it seem like he assumed that she liked him, which could be awkward if she did and awkward if she didn't.

Harry sighed. Sometimes there were just too many layers to dealing with people. Quidditch was much simpler. Just a boy and his broom.

"…but the expedition didn't go all that well because of some local poachers. They claimed that the snark never existed in the first place but daddy and I knew that they were only saying that. Really they just didn't want to share. Snark skin is very valuable you see; the entire village's economy was reliant on it. Designer robes and invisibility cloaks both use snark skin, even though the ministry has laws against that sort of thing. It's estimated that there are fewer than a dozen snarks left because of all of the poaching going on. It's sad, really," Luna said.

"Sounds sad," Ginny said, looking more bewildered than upset.

"I'm sorry, Harry, we've been excluding you. How was your summer?" Luna asked.

Not feeling like explaining how the majority of his summer was spent with muggles that resented his existence, Harry stuck to a short, "It was fine."

There was a knock and the compartment door before Luna could respond and a young student, perhaps a second year from the look of her, opened the door without waiting for a response. With an air of self-importance she stuck out two letters with Harry and Ginny's names embossed in curling gold on the front. "Invitations from Professor Slughorn," the girl said.

Bemused, Harry and Ginny took the invitations. The girl left without another word. She had a few other invitations sticking out of the pockets of her robe.

"Professor Horace Slughorn cordially invites you to a small gathering in his personal compartment in order to get to know some of the school's most promising individuals…blah, blah, blah," Ginny said. She tore the invitation in half with disgust evident on her face.

"Not even going to give him a chance?" Harry asked. He had found Slughorn a bit pompous and shallow when they had met but, for all that, he didn't seem like a bad man, and it could only help to have a professor on their side during the year. A repeat of Umbridge was about the worst thing Harry could think of.

"My parents told me about Slughorn. Dumbledore let them know that he was coming out of retirement. They told me that he's a snobby, arrogant git, who likes to collect students that he thinks are going to be powerful or influential. He doesn't care about teaching at all. It's all a power trip for him."

"Would Dumbledore really have hired him if he was such a bad teacher?" Harry asked.

"Dumbledore is running out of options," Ginny retorted.

"I think it's nice that he takes such an interest in his students," Luna said.

"Besides, are we going to go to this little party and leave Luna alone? That'd be an awful thing to do. No, I'm staying here." Gina tossed the remains of the card on the floor with a defiant glance Harry's way.

"It's all right. I quite like being alone sometimes," Luna said.

"No, Ginny's right. We're staying here. I don't really feel like toadying up to some new teacher right now anyway," Harry said. He threw his card, whole, onto the ground with Ginny's shredded one, in a somewhat juvenile show of solidarity. Ginny looked grateful and Harry mentally patted himself on the back.

The three of them spent the remainder of the trip to Hogwarts catching up on what they did over the summer. None of them mentioned the events at the Ministry the year before. It somehow seemed wrong, as if the bond they shared from mutual danger wasn't something that should be mentioned aloud.

It made them more comfortable around each other though. It wasn't the same type of friendship that Harry had with Ron and Hermione, especially because of his growing attraction to Ginny, but it was nice. There weren't many people he could talk to that wouldn't treat him differently because he was the Boy-Who-Lived. Luna was so spacy that Harry wasn't even sure that she was aware of who he was most of the time, and Ginny had made a studious effort to act like less of a squealing fan as she got older. It made all the difference in their relationship. He was able to finally get to know her, rather than feel uncomfortable because of how she worshipped him.

Talking to her over the course of the train ride Harry could see the similarities and differences between Ginny and her siblings. She had their boldness and pride, but there was nuance to her that Harry didn't see in Ron or the twins. There was something calculating about Ginny, as if she was advancing to a goal that only she could see, and every interaction was shaped with that goal in mind. Harry wondered if it was the influence that Riddle had had on her. He didn't think there was any active influence but nobody was exactly sure what the long-term impact of possession was.

It was possible that something of Riddle had been left behind; that Ginny was more Slytherin than anyone gave her credit for.

Her pursuit of Harry, if that was what it was, certainly seemed rather Slytherin. It involved an entire makeover of her personality to present herself in a way that she thought Harry would like. That wasn't to say it was all an act; Harry was sure that most of what he was seeing was the real Ginny. It was just the real Ginny without any of the parts she thought he wouldn't like, an edited view at the real her. Ron would never even consider presenting himself in such an edited way. Nor would the other Weasleys, like the twins or Percy. The rest of them imposed themselves on the world and expected the world to accommodate that; they were like their mother in that respect.

Ginny was subtle where they were loud, flexible where they were restrained. Harry could admire that, if not exactly relate to it. He didn't think that he could ever act in such a way, modify himself so convincingly. But it was fascinating to him that Ginny could.

While Harry could increasingly understand Ginny he got nothing of the sort from Luna. She remained as much of an enigma to him as she had the year before. Whatever was going on with her, whether it was feigned spaciness as a self-defense mechanism or actual strangeness, Luna didn't reveal enough of her herself for Harry to make an educated guess.

The three of them stayed together from the train until they entered the Great Hall. Luna wandered off to the Ravenclaw table, sitting alone, a perfect island amidst a storm of adolescent prattle. Ginny saw Dean Thomas, who waved her over, and, with an apologetic nod to Harry, she joined her boyfriend, giving him a kiss on the cheek that made Harry crawl with envy.

Ron and Hermione had never returned from their prefect meeting on the train. He assumed they were being held late so Harry took a seat by himself at the Gryffindor table. Few had the nerve to sit next to him. It was when he was without Ron and Hermione that Harry realized how isolated he was even within his own house.

"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said, his voice booming without the need for magical augmentation. "I am delighted to announce that this year we will be reinstating the Hogwarts Dueling Club, under the auspicious guidance of a very talented young witch, Miss Fleur Delacour."

Fleur stood up and gave a short curtsy to the school. She received rabid applause from the male portion of the school (and a couple of the females as well, Harry noticed) but a more tepid response from most of the girls. It didn't seem to faze Fleur and she sat down as soon as the applause died out.

"Many of you will remember Miss Delacour from her participation in the Triwizard Tournament a few years ago. I am certain that she will bring the same level of dedication and talent to the Dueling Club that she did to that splendid tournament. In other news, please welcome Professor Horace Slughorn to the Hogwarts faculty." There was more polite applause. Slughorn bowed as if he were receiving adulation from thousands. "Professor Slughorn will be teaching Potions, meaning our very own Professor Snape will be taking over the Defense Against the Dark Arts."

The Slytherin table exploded with cheers. The rest of the school gave a measured response, if they even bothered to clap at all. Snape had on the same cold visage that he always wore, sitting down even before the cheers expired.

Dumbledore went on to explain some of the new measures that Hogwarts was taking to defend itself against incursion from dark forces and a warning about Voldemort but Harry was hardly listening. He didn't need a reminder to be vigilant. It was him that Voldemort wanted, not the other students. After a few parting words, Dumbledore sat down and the feast began.

Harry piled his plate with food just in time for Ron and Hermione, out of breath, to sit down across from him. They looked frazzled.

"A little late, aren't you?" Harry said.

"We were just-"

"Just finished making rounds," Hermione said. She looked at Ron, who looked at her, then Ron nodded.

"Just finished making the last check of the train," Ron said. Hermione nodded again.

"Find anything interesting?" Harry asked, dryly.

"Nothing," Hermione said. "Is that turkey? I love turkey." She heaped a pile onto her plate then passed it to Ron.

Harry could imagine, thanks to Fleur, what had caused them to be too late. It was, he supposed, the beginning of the end. They would drift together and away from him. Not intentionally, but as the inevitable consequence of becoming closer to one another. It would be a slow, quiet, painful thing. He was selfishly dreading it with all of his being.

Looking away from the couple Harry glanced up to the faculty's table where Fleur was sitting. She was looking at him. He gave her a thumbs up and she rewarded him with a small smile. Her usual stylish robes had been replaced by austere black robes that brought out the milky paleness of her skin and the light sheen of her hair. The ensemble gave her an ethereal quality, as if she were some otherworldly being.

"So, when's the Dueling Club starting up?" Ron asked. He and Hermione were sitting farther apart from each other than they had been when they had initially sat down. Hermione was staring down at her food. Ron wasn't looking over at her, instead staring intently at Harry in the way someone looks when they're deliberately not looking at something else.

"A week or two. Fleur's going to try to get word to spread around school so that everyone who wants to come has the opportunity."

"You think you're going to be able to schedule that and quidditch?"

"Probably not," Harry admitted. "I'll have to give one of them up. I'm not sure which yet. We'll see who needs me more."

"I think that the Dueling Club is much more important. You have the chance to help save lives there," Hermione said.

"Of course you'd be against quidditch," Ron said. He still wouldn't look at Hermione.

She whirled on him. "As if you've ever thought about anything other than that sport and your stomach, Ronald."

"At least I think about something other than books, Hermione." He said her name with a venom Harry didn't associate with Ron.

Hermione didn't react well. With a sneer at Ron she stood up, turned around, and began to walk out of the Great Hall.

"Oi, we need to take the first years to the tower," Ron shouted after her.

"Do it yourself," she shot back.

A few other scattered heads watched her retreat. Ron turned back to his food sullenly. He poked at a potato and then pushed his plate away.

Harry popped some potato into his mouth and said, "I don't think she's happy."

"What tipped you off," Ron said, groaning.

Though Harry was curious about what had happened between Ron and Hermione he didn't think it would be a good idea to press. Ron looked to be somewhere between self-loathing and frustrated and Harry knew that with his temper he was just looking for someone to explode at. Better to let that be someone else.

Besides, Harry could imagine what had happened. There had been a somewhat tender moment between them, one that shattered how they thought about their relationship, and they were recoiling from one another because they weren't sure how to adapt to the new situation. A story as old as time itself. Harry thought that Fleur deserved to know that she had been right. No doubt she would be thrilled that it had happened so quickly. Frankly, Harry had been hoping that it would be another year or two before they acted on their mutual attraction.

"You know, I assumed that Slughorn would be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. Never figured that Dumbledore would give it to Snape," Harry said.

"There goes the one class that I actually look forward to. This day keeps getting better and better."

"Who knows? Maybe Snape's bad attitude was just because he was forced to teach Potions. Maybe he'll start teaching Defense and we'll see that he's really been a good guy underneath all of the bitterness and gloom after all. I wouldn't want to cramped in the dungeons day after day either."

"You're screwing with me."

"Oh yeah. It's going to be miserable."

Ron groaned again.

People around the Great Hall were finishing eating. The first year Gryffindors had closed ranks and huddled together, like they were afraid that they would be ambushed by some vicious older student. Better keep them away from Malfoy as long as possible, Harry thought.

He wondered where Malfoy had been during the train ride. It was an exceptional ride when Malfoy didn't bother to make an appearance. It might have had something to do with the package he was taking to Knockturn Alley, Harry thought. The stakes of their rivalry, if it could be called that, had changed. They weren't petty children anymore. Each of them had a cause and their causes were diametrically opposed. If they came into conflict Harry had a feeling that it wouldn't result in mild consequences, like prank jinxes or cruel words. The world was changing and they were changing along with it.

"I should probably take the first years now, before they scatter," Ron said. One boy in particular looked as if he was going to bolt from the hall at the first opportunity. From the way he was looking at the ghosts and the nighttime sky that was the Great Hall's ceiling Harry surmised that he was muggleborn. Or at least raised by muggles. Silently, Harry raised his glass to the boy. You've entered a brave new world, he thought, draining the rest of the pumpkin juice from his cup.

"I'll meet you back at the tower," Harry said. Ron was already making his way over to the first years, shouting at them. He didn't seem to be making any attempt to seem gentle. By leaving Hermione had consigned those first years to an unwarranted fate. Ron on the war path was an unpleasant prospect even to Harry, let alone defenseless and confused first years. Not for the first time Harry wondered if Dumbledore had been thinking clearly when he had made Ron a prefect.

Before he rose to head back to Gryffindor Tower Harry noticed a presence by his side. Fleur was standing next to him.

"I thought I might be able to convince you to have a nightcap with me, to celebrate the start of another school year," she said.

"Professor McGonagall would have a fit if she thought you were serving minors on school grounds," Harry said.

"I won't tell if you don't. Just a small glass of wine, enough to cleanse the palate. I think I'll need it after that dinner. The English don't seem to believe in cooking things. You just throw meat into a vat and take it out when it's brown and lifeless."

"We're an efficient people," Harry said.

"No, the Germans are efficient. You're just barbaric," Fleur retorted.

"With racial discrimination like that how could I say no to the offer of your company."

"I thought as much," she said.

She took him to the room's she had been assigned. Dumbledore had given her a suite not far from where Harry knew the Hufflepuff Common Room to be. Fleur had already gotten around to decorating. The room was tastefully draped in blue and silver; it had the appearance of a home that had been lived in for many months.

There was a bathroom, living room, small kitchen, sitting room, and bedroom. Overall it was much larger than Harry had thought that her accommodations would be. For some reason he had always imagined teachers living ascetic lives in cramped two-room apartments in the bowels of Hogwarts. For them to actually be comfortable was a bit of a surprise.

"What do you think?" Fleur asked.

"It reminds me of you," he said.

"That's a very safe answer."

"The safe answer is sometimes the best answer to give."

"The safe answer bores me," Fleur said. "Tell me something interesting. Say something bold about my room. Tell me something you hate or something you love."

"I like your drapes," Harry said, flatly.

"You don't have the slightest appreciation for décor, do you?" Fleur asked.

"Of course not."

She sighed. "I will civilize you, Harry Potter. Even if it takes the entire year."

Something so innocent shouldn't sound so threatening, Harry thought. He decided to move the conversation to safer ground. "You were right about Ron and Hermione. Something happened to them when they were on the train together. Hermione blew up at Ron and left the table halfway through dinner and he's been in a rotten mood all night."

"Confused young love is always a sight to behold," Fleur said, her voice fluttery like she was lost in memories.

"I wouldn't call it confused love," Harry said. He reached for the proper word. "More like…angry love."

"That can be the best kind of love of all," Fleur said, arching her eyebrows suggestively.

"I don't want to imagine that."

"It's only natural, Harry."

"Not between Ron and Hermione it isn't."

"Love knows no bounds."

"Theirs should."

"I'm sure their children will be beautiful."

"Please stop. Just stop."

She laughed and then said, "But I'm being a terrible host. I offered you a drink. Do you prefer red or white?" Fleur went into the kitchen and returned holding two bottles, the labels in French, stoppered full of what was no doubt expensive wine. They both looked about equally appealing, or unappealing, to Harry.

"The port it is," Fleur said, not waiting for Harry's input. She put the white back into the kitchen, retrieved two glasses, and poured a generous amount in each. Harry took one and she clinked her glass against his. "To a new year," she said.

"To a new year," Harry repeated.

Fleur sipped at her wine, her eyes locked on Harry as he tasted his own. He couldn't help but make a face when he tasted it. The Dursleys had never let him have any alcohol before, sure that it would only exacerbate his 'delinquent' tendencies, so the distinctive flavor of the wine caught him unawares. It was much stronger than he had been expecting and Harry wasn't sure that he actually liked it. Fleur smiled but didn't make fun of him, taking another drink from her own glass.

"Wine can be an acquired taste. In time you'll grow to like it. In the meantime I'll force you to drink different varieties so that you're not completely unaware of elegant pastimes."

"Drinking is a pastime?" Harry asked. The taste of the wine was clinging to his mouth, saturating it, so that he was sure his first order of business when he got back to the tower would be to brush his teeth. Fleur gestured for him to drink more and he did so, albeit somewhat reluctantly.

"Of course. The indolent wealthy love nothing more than to spend all their time drinking. The poor do the same, but less tastefully."

"I hate to break it to you, Fleur, but I'm not wealthy," Harry said.

"That doesn't mean you can't be a gentleman," Fleur retorted. "Good manners and cultured appreciation for the finer things in life are attractive in any man."

"I suppose," Harry said. He took a small sip of the wine before saying, "I sat with Ginny on the way to Hogwarts."

"Oh? And was I right about both couples or just your friends?" Fleur asked.

"Both, I think. Ginny was asking me about you, about what I thought about you. I think she was worried about me liking you, and having to compete with that. She kept asking me about your personality and whether or not I liked this and that."

"Interesting. And what did you tell her?" Fleur was running her hands along the rim of her glass. She never took more than small sips but Harry noticed that over half of her glass was gone already.

It was a rather large glass. He wondered if her assessment of the drinking habits of the rich applied to herself.

"I tried to reassure her, make her realize that I didn't like you like that. She didn't seem reassured though."

Fleur chose her next words carefully. "What, in particular, were the traits she wanted to know about."

"She thinks you're sophisticated and tenacious," Harry said, trying to choose his words carefully. The power games that women played were beyond his mortal ken.

"In other words, snobby and clingy."

"Ginny isn't your biggest fan," he admitted.

"No, of course not. She's worried that I'm going to seduce you," Fleur said, rather lightly.

Harry blushed and averted his eyes from Fleur. He was all too aware that she was beautiful and he was alone in her suite with her. For her to talk so casually of seduction made him uncomfortable, and, for a small part of him that Harry had hoped didn't exist, excited.

"Why would she think that?" Harry asked.

"Because it's what she would do. You can relax; I'm not going to pounce on you. I'm marrying Bill, Harry. It's just what she would do if she were in my position. Women, when they're enamored with a man, can't help but see any attractive woman as a potential threat. It's why Hermione was so upset with me; Ronald couldn't help but react to my presence and that bothered Hermione because she liked him. You and I have become friends and that bothers Ginny who sees and relationship between you and an attractive female as a likely romantic one."

"Oh," Harry said. There wasn't much else for him to say. Ginny's behavior made more sense, as did Hermione's, but it was a disappointing explanation. Jealousy was, by nature, distinctly uninteresting. Judging by Fleur's reaction to Ginny's supposition she had never seriously considered Harry in that light either. It was closer to being laughable to her than it was a realistic proposition.

Harry didn't want any romantic relationship with Fleur but it still stung to know that she hadn't even considered it. While not surprising—she was older, beautiful, intelligent, and, from what he had gathered, wealthy—it still was a little offensive. Harry would never jeopardize his relationship with the Weasleys but Fleur was compelling and he thought that they had been getting along well.

He supposed that there was more to a relationship than friendliness. Maybe it was the age gap that did it. She couldn't take him seriously because he was so much younger. Or perhaps once you were getting married you ceased looking at other people in that way. It could be that Fleur didn't look at anyone in that way since she had agreed to marry Bill.

In the end, it didn't really matter. It was all hypothetical anyway.

"Have I spoiled the mystery for you?" Fleur asked. She drained the rest of the wine from her glass. Her cheeks were flushed, though not with anger or embarrassment. Uncle Vernon got the same way on Christmas Eve when he had too much to drink. Fleur hadn't had much but she was much smaller than Uncle Vernon, Harry supposed. He wasn't feeling much from the wine he had drunk but there was still over half left.

"No, I like solving mysteries, not the mysteries themselves," Harry said.

"Do you like her?"

"Who?"

"Ginny," Fleur said. She looked at him as if he were an idiot.

"Oh…I suppose. But she has a boyfriend."

"Somehow I doubt that will present much of an obstacle," Fleur said. She ran a finger along the inside rim of her glass and licked the traces of wine off her finger. Harry pretended not to notice, though he was sure that would be an image burned into his mind for some time to come.

"Care to elaborate?" Harry asked.

"Dean Thomas, another boy in your year, correct?" At Harry's nod she said, "Ginny is using him to make you jealous. It's no coincidence that she chose someone in your year rather than her own; it's someone that you can't ignore. Every step Ginny takes is one she thinks will bring her closer to you. Express an interest in her and watch how quickly Dean Thomas is dropped."

Harry had never considered it like that before. It made Ginny sound conniving, as if she didn't care about anything but getting together with Harry. Her having an interest in him was flattering. Her being obsessed with him was less so.

"Should that make me wary?" Harry asked.

"Are you asking me if I think Ginny is crazy?" Harry nodded and Fleur said, "I wouldn't say it's reached that level of obsession. She likes you and wants to date you. It's not as if she's stalking you or interfering in your life at all. You just have to understand that it's likely she's built up an idealized version of you in your head and it would be difficult for you to match up to that. Her relationship with you, if it does emerge, is years in the making. She's had a long time to plan every aspect of it out and she doesn't know you very well. It's all conjecture on her part. Preconceived notions make every relationship more dangerous and Ginny is bound to have a lot of them."

"You're a guru, Fleur," Harry said.

"No. I'm an astute observer of the human condition and I'm out of wine. Would you like anymore?" she asked.

"I'm alright," Harry said. He let some more drip into his mouth, pushing the wine below the halfway mark in his glass, which seemed to please Fleur. She left him sitting on the couch and went to refill her own glass.

She had made Harry much more wary of pursuing a relationship with Ginny. He liked her, enjoyed their time together, but Fleur made it sound as if any relationship between them would be difficult. Even if she wouldn't come out and say so it was clear that Fleur thought Ginny had been planning to essentially manipulate Harry into a relationship for years.

Could he possibly get together with someone who had so much invested in him? There was a pressure in that; he might not measure up to Ginny's mental standards for how he should be. Harry also wasn't sure that he wanted to date someone who put so much of themselves into the process of finding someone to date. He thought that Ginny should have been living her own life rather than trying to figure out how to worm her way into his.

The more he thought about it the less appealing a relationship with Ginny was. She had too much baggage, saw too much of the hero in him and not enough of Harry. The question, then, was whether or not to continue their friendship, if it could be called that.

A friendship might encourage her, or it could help her to realize what the real him was like and discourage any further interest. Or she could see who he really was and would grow to like him for himself, rather than any imaginary notion of him that she had.

Not only did Fleur return with her own glass, refilled, she returned with the entire bottle as well. Harry laughed at her and she flushed out of embarrassment. He had never seen Fleur genuinely look embarrassed before; it was nice to know that she wasn't the permanently collected, keen-eyed observer that she pretended to be.

"We're celebrating, no?" she said.

"We are," Harry said, still smiling.

"Then you must drink more so that I don't feel bad about myself," Fleur said. Together they took a long draft of their wine.

"Ron and Hermione were asking me about the dueling club. They want to know when it's going to start," Harry said.

"That reminds me." She grabbed some flyers from her desk and handed them to Harry. They were bright and showed two wizards facing off, wands buzzing with magic, in rigid dueling stances. Across the top in bold letters it said _Hogwarts Dueling Club: MWF at 7:00 PM_. In the bottom, in small letters, it mentioned that Fleur was the instructor and Harry operated as her assistant.

"I was hoping that you would distribute these in your common room," Fleur said.

"Get the word out?" Harry asked, still examining the flyer. It looked high quality, a contrast to the usual posters that got put on the common room board. He was sure that it would attract a fair amount of attention on its own, before even considering the impact Dumbledore's announcement would have had.

"Exactly. I don't want to hold the first meeting until I'm sure that we'll get as much participation as possible."

There was something more intimidating about helping Fleur with the Dueling Club than there had been with the DA. That was illicit, exciting even, because they were resisting unjust rules, but the Dueling Club was serious. It had no charm. Voldemort was back and the Dueling Club was a faculty supported initiative to help people save their lives if they came into difficult or dangerous situations. People would be looking to him and Fleur to make a difference. It was a humbling thought.

Harry and Fleur let the night die as they talked together. Harry let her pour him another glass of wine after he finished his, the taste starting to grow on him, becoming tolerable if not actually pleasant, and Fleur matched him drink for drink. Harry was feeling a pleasant buzz that he had never felt before, a small pressure on his head, and a cheeriness that he quite enjoyed. He noticed himself becoming more talkative as time went on whereas Fleur had normally been the one to do most of the talking in the past.

Smiles came easily to their faces and the conversation flowed, undimmed, deftly leaping from topic to topic. The bottle grew emptier and emptier, Harry's giddiness only growing proportionally to how the bottle emptied. Artifice disappeared completely from their conversation and Harry was confident that he had never before been so honest and open with someone in his life. Even with Ron and Hermione he held things back but he felt as if he could bare his innermost thoughts to Fleur without judgement, as if she were on his side. She listened to everything he had to say with a content smile, only interrupting every now and again to make an observation or point of her own.

They traded stories of their childhoods; Harry told Fleur about when he had accidentally vanished the glass on a snake exhibit at the zoo, setting the boa constrictor free. She couldn't stop laughing at the image of his fat cousin paralyzed with fear as a massive snake slithered over him to freedom.

Harry didn't play up the way he was treated by the Dursleys but he didn't attempt to hide it either. Fleur made no judgements and didn't attempt to validate his perception of how horribly he had been treated; Harry's great fear that had always prevented him from opening up about the Dursley's was the idea of pity. He didn't want to be known as the kid who was neglected by his family; it would make him sound whiny, ungrateful, and pathetic, he feared. Fleur didn't judge, she just listened. Harry liked that.

In return for his story Fleur told him about growing up in France. She mentioned how she would read under an old giant oak in her backyard; how her father taught her how to fly a broomstick when she was a little girl and she was so terrified she would fly away she wouldn't let go of him. Fleur told him about her little sister and how she was bullied when she was little so that Fleur had to hex her bullies to get them to leave her alone. It warmed him to hear Fleur speak so fondly about her sister.

Her stories about her family made Harry wonder what his own childhood would have been like if Voldemort hadn't killed his parents. He wasn't sad that they were gone; it was hard for him to be sad about something he had never known. Instead he just felt an unsettling emptiness at times, like he was missing something integral that he couldn't explain. That feeling receded a bit when Fleur told him about her family.

By the time Harry was telling Fleur about how he and Ron had saved Hermione from the troll their first year, and he had stuck his wand up the troll's nose (sending Fleur into a convulsive fit of laughter), the bottle on the table was empty, along with their respective glasses. The castle had settled to the dull quietness that Harry associated with post-curfew Hogwarts. He had no doubt that Filch was on the prowl.

"It's late," Harry said, when he finished his story.

"I promised you a quick toast and here I've kept you for hours," Fleur said. She didn't seem apologetic at all, her words nothing more than a stodgy banality.

"The wine did grow on me," Harry admitted.

"I had a feeling it might."

"I should head back though. I've got class tomorrow."

"Let me walk you back," Fleur said. "I don't want you getting in trouble for being out past curfew."

Harry stood up and there was a moment of vertigo, then the world started spinning. He had to concentrate on where he was putting his feet and the effort of it was making him want to laugh.

When they were walking back to the tower, Fleur said, "I hope that the Dueling Club will be a success. I've never actually tried to teach before."

Harry stopped, putting one hand against the wall to balance himself, and said, "Fleur, you'll be brilliant. You taught me more about charms in one week than I usually do in a month with Flitwick."

"You had better not tell him that," Fleur joked.

"And the guys are going to absolutely hang on your every word," Harry said, giving her a wink. Normally he never would have been so bold but the wine had made him feel powerful and indestructible, like he couldn't make a wrong step.

"Flatterer," Fleur said. "You're quite a cheerful drunk, aren't you?"

"I don't think I'm drunk," Harry said, nearly missing a step.

"Of course you're not," Fleur said.

They spent the rest of their walk back to the tower in silence. Harry was gratified that they had reached the point in their relationship that they weren't obligated to keep up a constant stream of conversation; only friends could be completely comfortable together in silence, unfortunately.

The silence of a friend was a beautiful thing, Harry thought.

They reached the tower. Harry knew that it was at least past midnight.

"I enjoyed your company a great deal tonight, Mr. Potter. It was…refreshing," Fleur said, with faux formality.

"And I you, Miss Delacour. You were charming, as always." Feeling gallant, Harry took her hand and placed a kiss on it. Fleur's cheeks were red, though from the wine or the kiss Harry wasn't sure.

"Goodnight, Harry," she said.

"Goodnight, Fleur."

 **AN: Good news, everyone! The rough draft of this story is finished and sitting on my hard drive. I'm editing as quickly as possible but my free time has effectively been quartered since my return to college. I'll upload each chapter as soon as they're finished but I make no promises as to how quickly I'll finish each one.**

 **Also, a full chapter with no scene breaks. Bold, huh?**

 **As always, reviews are appreciated. Let me know what you think, good or bad. I'm always looking to improve my writing.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter III**

"You didn't come back before I went to bed last night," Ron said.

The Great Hall was filled with students. Most people made an appearance at breakfast for the first few days before skipping in favor of more sleep. There wasn't much space at the Gryffindor table and Harry was leery of saying anything that other people could hear. Ron didn't seem all that bothered, still shoveling food into his mouth while looking half-asleep.

"Fleur wanted to iron out some details about the Dueling Club. She had me put up those flyers in the common room," Harry said.

Hermione had refused to come down to breakfast with them. She claimed to still be mad with Ron but Harry figured that they were still uncomfortable around each other after whatever had happened between them. Ron hadn't protested when she refused to come down; in fact he had seemed more relieved than anything.

Harry hoped they wouldn't keep up the cold war relations for too long. He was hoping to enjoy what he could of the year, even with Voldemort looming, and his two best friends refusing to be around each other was a serious impediment to that.

"I saw those. They looked pretty good. First meeting is next Monday, right?" Ron asked. He did look genuinely interested. Ron had gotten more than most people out of the DA the year before. It had helped him to improve his skills and his confidence, something that had been sorely lacking. Harry was hoping that the Dueling Club would do more of the same.

"Monday. It should be a short meeting. We're just trying to get a feel for how many people are interested and will show up to every meeting. We might work on a spell but it's mostly for administrative purposes."

"Fleur's turning you into a bloody bureaucrat," Ron said. He finished the last of the eggs on his plate and chugged his glass of pumpkin juice.

"Have to get that out of the way before we can get to the good stuff," Harry said mildly.

A second year Gryffindor that Harry vaguely recognized came up behind Ron and held out a letter. Harry recognized the embossed scrawl on the front as Slughorn's. "Note from Professor Slughorn," the boy said. To call it a note was an understatement; it was the kind of invitation one would expect from the Prime Minister.

Harry thanked the boy and they opened the notes. There wasn't much written, it was devoid of the flowery phrasing of Slughorn's previous invitation, but the contents were much more pleasing.

"He wants us to come to his Potions class," Ron said, sounding a little shocked. Harry thought that Ron had been somewhat pleased at only receiving an Exceeds Expectations in Potions. It was good enough to get an O.W.L. but not good enough that he would have to continue the class; the best possible outcome for someone who hated both Potions and Snape.

Now that the option of taking the class was open Harry knew that Ron felt as if he would have to take it. The Weasley boys made most of their decisions based on what would upset their mother the least. He would never risk her finding out he was skipping a N.E.W.T. level class just because he didn't want to take it.

"It can't be as bad as Snape," Harry said, letting the note drop to the table. Perhaps his dream of becoming an auror wasn't quite as dead as he had thought. Slughorn, likely unknowingly, was doing Harry an enormous favor.

"No, but that doesn't mean it won't be awful. We'll be brewing tedious smelly potions in the dungeons with people that we hate, Harry. That's miserable no matter who the teacher is."

"Suppose so. We should hurry if we want to be on time."

Ron looked disgruntled at Harry's lack of a sense of impending doom. He grabbed a piece of toast and they went to the Potions classroom.

The rest of their classmates were already there when they arrived a few minutes late. Hermione glanced up at their entry, appeared surprised to see them, and then lowered her head before Ron looked in her direction. Harry had to resist the impulse to roll his eyes.

"Harry m'boy, do come in in," Slughorn said. His voice boomed in the confines of the classroom. The Slytherins looked rather put out by the warm reception Harry was getting. "I see you got my note. Excellent, excellent. Professor Snape may have only taken Outstandings for his N.E.W.T. class but I believe that anyone with an interest should be able to pursue Potions to the very highest level. And I see you brought your friend, Mr. Weatherby. Excellent. You boys should go into the closet and grab a copy of the textbook; I think I left a few old ones lying around. Then grab a table and get to work. We're brewing the Draught of Living Death today. The best potion gets a special reward." Slughorn winked conspiratorially. The man was just as outrageous as Harry remembered him.

There were a half-dozen copies of the potions textbook so Harry and Ron grabbed a copy without glancing through them. They were already behind the rest of the class. It wasn't until they got to their empty table that Harry glanced through his book and saw what appeared to be vomit on a few pages. He groaned softly.

From there it was a desperate scramble for Ron and Harry to get the ingredients and start brewing the potions, making up for the several minute head starts that their classmates had. Hermione didn't look at them throughout the process. Harry hoped that she wasn't angry at him as well. Sometimes just consorting with Ron while she was angry with him was enough to set her off.

Unsurprisingly, after twenty minutes, Harry's potion was a burbling mess the wrong shade of violet.

Somewhat surprisingly, Ron's potion was exactly the color and shade that it was supposed to be. Harry thought that it was by far the best potion that Ron had ever made. He shot him an incredulous look and got one back in return. Hermione's potion was a bit lighter than it was supposed to be and she was normally the only one in the class to even come close to brewing the potions properly. Harry's potion looked roughly in line with what everyone else was doing; Ron and Hermione were making unparalleled potions, though Ron's was a little better.

Malfoy's potion was almost as bad as Harry's, which was surprisingly considering that Malfoy, even when accounting for Snape's blatant favoritism, was one of the better Potions students in the school. He looked tired and stressed. His hands were shaking slightly. He had the demeanor of someone under a great deal of pressure. It was a look Harry knew from the faces of members of the Order of the Phoenix but it wasn't one he expect to see on a Hogwarts student. He resolved to keep a closer eye on Malfoy. It could be nothing. Or it could be dangerous.

The class period went by quickly because of how much Harry was struggling to catch up to his classmates. Not only did Ron finish before Harry, he finished before the rest of the class, including Hermione. Harry's surprise morphed into outright suspicion.

Ron wasn't an idiot but he was brewing like a prodigy. His finished potion matched the description in the textbook perfectly. Harry couldn't detect a single flaw. His own potion looked like a popped zit, nothing like it was supposed to be. Harry had no doubt that it would cause some form of death, but probably not exactly the way it was supposed to. He wondered if it was too late to drop Potions again.

"And that's time. Bring a sample to the front for inspection and we'll determine the winner!" Slughorn threw his arms out wide, as if announcing something grand that would go down in the annals of history.

The students, lacking his enthusiasm, placed their samples on his desk. It was clear to everyone that the only two possibly in contention for the prize were Hermione and Ron. Hermione still wasn't looking back at Ron though Harry thought she must have known that it was Ron's potion that was challenging her.

If that wasn't enough to break her out of her funk he would just write her off as a lost cause for a while. Anything that could overpower Hermione's curiosity was dangerous indeed.

When Slughorn came to Harry's potion he gave a little start and moved past it without commenting. Harry doubted that it would materially affect Slughorn's opinion of him; he was being accommodating because of Harry's fame, not his potions skills. Eventually Slughorn cleared away all of the potions but two, Ron and Hermione's.

"Almost perfect," he said, admiring Hermione's under the light. He put it down and picked up Ron's sample. After a tense minute of minute examination, he said, "Perfect," flatly, as if even he couldn't believe it. The class seemed just as incredulous as Slughorn. For that matter, Ron seemed just as incredulous as Slughorn.

"Mr. Weasley, congratulations. You are the winner of a very special prize." The showmanship was gone, cold sobriety replacing it. "Felix Felicis, commonly called Liquid Luck, one of the most powerful potions known the world over. It turns the ordinary into the extraordinary; two drops can transform the most average day of your life into one of the greatest. Use it sparingly, Mr. Weasley. Its potency is not to be underestimated." He handed the vial to Ron gingerly.

Ron cradled it in the palm of his hand, still unable to believe that he had won. Harry had to admit that the prize was much greater than he had thought it would be. Extra credit or an invitation to the 'Slug Club' was what he had been expecting; not a potion which sounded like it warped the very fabric of reality around the user. Whatever Ron had done to win had put him in an enviable situation.

Class was dismissed after a moment of silence from Slughorn. It was a mixed end to a mixed class, Harry thought. Nobody could wrap their head around the fact that Ron Weasley had brewed perfectly such an incredibly difficult potion. Hermione was packing up her things with some vigor, not seeming to care if her supplies were bent or broken as she stuffed them into her bag. She was out of the classroom before Ron and Harry finished packing.

"You're going to have to apologize to Hermione at some point," Harry said.

"I didn't do anything," Ron said.

"Do you really think that matters?" Harry asked.

Ron grumbled and they left the classroom together. Once he and Ron were a good distance from the classroom and Harry didn't see anyone around them he drew Ron into an alcove.

"So? How'd you do it?" he asked.

"Do what?" Ron asked, making a shoddy attempt at being evasive.

"Make a perfect potion that you wouldn't normally be able to brew if you had a hundred tries," Harry said.

Ron glanced around, making sure they were really alone, and then reached into his bag and drew out the potions book that he had borrowed from Slughorn. He flipped to a random page and Harry could see cramped marginalia all over the page. Certain instructions for making a potion were crossed out and an arrow led to handwritten instructions instead.

"I just followed these instructions. Whoever edited this is a genius. If you just do what they say you can make a better potion faster than anyone else," Ron said.

"Any idea who wrote them?" Harry asked. He flipped through a few more pages of the book. Each page had an enormous amount of the marginalia. There was enough writing to make a book out of just the commentaries alone.

"The book is supposed to be the property of the Half-Blood Prince, whoever that is," Ron said. He showed Harry the inscription on the title page of the book.

"Half-Blood Prince? Sounds pretty melodramatic to me," Harry said.

"I'm not going to judge the guy. If he's helping me in potions then he's okay in my book."

"Just be careful, Ron. This shortcut worked but you don't know that all of them are going to. I'd hate to see you get blown up. We don't have the best track record with clever books."

Ron paused at the reference to the diary. "I will be but I'm not too worried. This guy clearly knows his stuff. He helped me win this after all." Ron held the vial of Felix Felicis in his hand, admiring it in the light. The fluorescent silver liquid hardly moved, like melted gold, and shone with some inner light. Harry didn't doubt that it would operate as a light in the most absolute darkness. Magic seemed to roll off the potion in the same way a powerful spell or artifact affected its surroundings. It reminded him of Hermione's time turner their third year.

"Any idea what you're going to do with that?" Harry asked.

"A few, nothing concrete yet. It's incredible though. I feel like opportunities are just waiting for me now. This potion could really change things for me. I've just got to be sure to use it right; can't waste on it on the first half-baked idea to come my way."

"I wonder how powerful it is really," Harry said, still admiring the potion. He couldn't seem to take his eyes off of it.

"Slughorn seemed to think it was a big deal. The ordinary into the extraordinary. The guy's a showboat but I think he might have been telling the truth about this. There's just something about it…"

"I know what you mean," Harry said. Ron, somewhat reluctantly, put the potion back into his bag. Harry felt as if a light had been stolen from him. He was irrationally disappointed at the potion's disappearance but he shook off those thoughts and said, "Let's get back to the tower. I've got to pick up my book before Snape's class."

"You know, I trust Dumbledore and all, but making Snape the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher has got to be his worst move yet. Worse than Lockhart even," Ron said.

"On the bright side, that means Snape will be gone by the end of the year. We haven't had a teacher make it more than a year yet."

"You're right. Huh. I hadn't thought of that." Ron seemed cheered by the thought.

When they got back to the common room Hermione was sitting by herself in a chair in front of the dim fire. She was reading from their Defense textbook, oblivious to the rest of the common room. Her mouth moved slightly as she read the book, like she wanted to be reading it out loud and was only just able to restrain herself. Most students were in class. There were only a few older students, who weren't taking the full course load, loitering around. Hermione was the only one doing any sort of work. Even on the first day back she was studying. Harry thought that her work ethic moved past the admirable into the realm of the frightening.

"You should go apologize now," Harry said, nudging Ron forward.

Ron seemed reluctant; he looked at Harry to make sure he was serious and then slouched over to Hermione and sat down in the chair across from her. She didn't look up from her book, too engrossed to notice him, her lips still moving, so Ron cleared his throat loudly.

Harry thought that the entire common room would have heard that and cringed. It did manage to get Hermione's attention and she looked up at Ron, then narrowed her eyes. She thumped the book shut on her lap and crossed her arms, looking at Ron expectantly.

He spoke too softly for Harry to hear. Whatever he was saying seemed to be working. Hermione's face went from a hard mask to a blank stare; not happy by any means but no longer angry either. There was uncertainty there, and more that Harry couldn't decipher; Hermione had always been harder for him to understand than Ron. He supposed it had to do with being a girl.

By the time Harry got his book and returned to the common room Hermione and Ron were no longer whispering, they were talking animatedly about how Snape would differ from when he was teaching Potions. Whatever cloud had been hanging over the two of them had parted thanks to Ron's apology. Harry still wanted to know what had caused their problem in the first place, he only had his own vague suspicions, but he thought it would be a good idea to give it more time before he asked.

"I'm telling you, nothing's going to have changed. He'll still be an obnoxious git who hates Gryffindors," Ron said.

"I see you two have made up," Harry said, dropping onto a couch next to their chairs.

"We came to an understanding," Hermione said primly. Ron blushed a little but Harry pretended not to notice. The why didn't matter. As long as they weren't arguing he was happy.

"Good. Now we can all go and suffer through Snape together," Harry said.

Ron nodded sagely and Hermione rolled her eyes, but Harry could tell that she was amused. Sometimes he thought that Hermione was just being contrary when she defended Snape, worrying that if she didn't defend him then they would start to stop trying in his class completely. Only by maintaining some sense of professorial impartiality, however slight it was, could Hermione be sure that they would actually go to Snape's classes and do his homework. She seemed to think that she was preventing an all-out riot. Harry thought that Snape should thank her when they graduated; the bastard owed her more than he knew.

"It could be worse," Hermione said, when they were climbing through the common room doorway. "He could be Umbridge."

* * *

The lesson with Snape wasn't as bad as Harry had feared. Snape refrained from making any complaints about the quality of the students he was instructing and instead focused on lambasting the quality of the education that they had received the last few years. He found Quirrell incompetent, Lockhart a fraud, Lupin unobjective, Moody a murderous imposter, and the less said about Umbridge the better.

Aside from Lupin Harry couldn't disagree with Snape about much. The quality of Hogwarts' Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers had been spotty, to say the least. If one listened to Snape the string of teachers had been bad since long before Harry's first year. It seemed that finding a qualified teacher was a perennial problem.

About the course aims, Snape said, "We will be focusing on dark curses and creatures this year, with an emphasis on what you can reasonably be expected to find in the British Isles. I intend this to be the most practical of all of your classes at Hogwarts. In this class you will learn to defend yourself and others. If I suspect, even for a moment, that you are not putting forward your full effort in this class, you will be removed."

Snape took a long pause and stared out at the rest of the students. It was the biggest N.E.W.T. class at Hogwarts since anyone who wanted to take it was, by Dumbledore's orders, allowed. Personal safety wasn't something Hogwarts took lightly since Voldemort's return.

"There will be no dueling in this class; we will cover the theoretical work which will enable to you to learn to cast new, and more challenging, spells, and to deal with dark creatures. The Dueling Club has been founded in an effort to instill some rudimentary skills in combat. Despite its…subpar leadership, I will expect you all to attend as an additional form of homework. Should I find that you are not attending you will be asked to leave this class. Should I find that you are not putting in the same amount of effort in the Dueling Club that you do in this class you will be asked to leave this class. Do I make myself clear?"

Though Harry had expected Snape to make some jab at the Dueling Club he hadn't expected him to make attendance mandatory. If Snape was doing that in even a few of his classes it meant that attendance was likely to be much bigger than Harry and Fleur had expected. The comment about his qualifications wasn't any more than an obligatory and minor insult, the sort Harry had learned to let roll off of him years ago.

He knew that he had to tell Fleur after class what Snape had done. It would be just like him to plan something like that and never let Fleur know. She had told him that she would be setting up the room that the Club would be using for the foreseeable future and Harry decided to go and tell her after class.

After his spiel about the Dueling Club Snape told the class that they would be learning nonverbal magic in all of their classes and that he expected them to have it mastered by Christmas Break. Hermione looked aghast at that so Harry assumed that nonverbal casting was supposed to be far more difficult than Snape was making it out to be. Harry had expected nothing less than for Snape to maintain his absurd standards for his students when he made the switch from Potions to Defense. The man had changed jobs but the job hadn't changed him.

The last twenty minutes off class they were instructed to pair off and begin practicing nonverbal magic. Hermione and Ron were still a bit uncomfortable around each other so Hermione grabbed Harry before Ron could say anything and lead him off to a corner of the classroom. Ron was stuck being paired with Neville, who, to be fair, had made great strides in his spellcasting since the inception of the DA. Harry hoped to see him at the Dueling Club. He thought that Neville could become, if not a stellar wizard, at least average, which was already more than anyone had expected out of him since he came to Hogwarts.

"So, uh, how do we cast a spell nonverbally?" Harry asked Hermione.

"It requires the upmost concentration and discipline. Without the verbal incantation to guide the spell your own mental fortitude must make up the difference," Hermione said, with the air of someone who was quoting something.

"That's nice but how do I actually do it?" Harry asked.

"I don't know. I've never actually cast a spell nonverbally before," Hermione said, much more subdued.

They went back and forth but neither Harry nor Hermione were able to get any more than a spark out of their wands, and Harry had been mouthing the spell when he got that much. He felt lucky that Snape hadn't seen him doing that.

Ron was less fortunate. Snape had come up behind him when he was whispering the spell and assigned him detention for doing so. In his words Ron had "Contravened the entire point of the lesson and, in doing so, demonstrated his contempt for the subject matter." Harry could tell that it took a great deal of restrain on Ron's part not to say that it only demonstrated his contempt for the teacher. From the ugly smile Snape was wearing he knew it too.

"Nonverbal spells will be really useful for the Dueling Club," Hermione said.

"You think so?"

"In a duel you get a massive advantage if your opponent doesn't know what spell you're casting. It's easier to take them by surprise. You're also able to cast more spells in any given period of time if you don't have to use an incantation."

"Maybe I should ask Fleur to help me," Harry mused out loud. Snape turned his head in their direction and they both fell silent.

The more Harry thought about it the better an idea he thought getting her to help him would be. She had used nonverbal spells in the Triwizard Tournament so clearly she had been using them for a while and Harry could only be a better assistant if he were able to use nonverbal spells. The better the spell caster the better the teacher, after all.

Nobody made any real progress by the time the lesson ended. Snape didn't look any more displeased than usual. Harry assumed that Snape had been expecting them all to fail miserably; it would be just like him to assign something he knew they weren't able to do and not to give them any real instruction.

"What a bastard," Ron said when they had left the classroom behind. He had a sullen look on his face that Harry knew was only partly from the fact that he had detention. Getting paired with Neville never made Ron happy. He didn't have a great deal of respect for the other boy.

For once Hermione didn't try to defend Snape. Harry figured that she was still upset that he tried to have them cast nonverbally without any real instruction. Hermione absolutely loathed bad teaching.

"Some things never change," Harry said, in a sing-song voice. Ron glared at him for the attempt at levity. He wanted someone to commiserate with him and it certainly wasn't going to be Hermione.

"I should head to the library and check out some books on nonverbal casting," Hermione said.

"And I should go help Fleur set up the Dueling Club," Harry said.

"Wait, what am I going to do then?" Ron asked.

Harry and Hermione shrugged rather indifferently.

"Read a book," Hermione suggested.

"Make new friends," Harry added.

Ron just turned and walked away, grumbling curses under his breath. Hermione left in the direction of the library and Harry started walking to where the flyers Fleur had given him had said the Dueling Club would be held. If she wasn't there she would probably be in her room.

Harry knew that he had had too much to drink the night before. He had been fortunate to escape without a hangover; Uncle Vernon was never in a good mood when he woke up the morning after he had too much to drink. It evidently wasn't a pleasant feeling. He wondered how much of a fool he had seemed to Fleur. She was responsible for finishing more of the bottle than he was but Harry supposed that she was better able to handle her alcohol better than he was, being much more experienced.

For his first time drinking Harry didn't think he had behaved too badly but thinking about some of the things he had done, such as opening up about the Dursleys, made him cringe. That was something he had kept to himself for years. Opening up to Fleur, who he had only known well for a little over a week, was uncharacteristic of him. He liked Fleur but he wasn't sure he trusted her that much; there was too much about her he didn't know and didn't understand.

He decided to act normally, pretend as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. She undoubtedly knew that he had never been drunk before but Fleur was astute; she would realize that he didn't want to talk about it. He could count on her to be tactful when it was needed.

Fleur was in the Dueling Club room, though Harry thought that room was less appropriate for describing it than hall. It reminded him of the Great Hall, though without the charmed ceiling. The hall was about a hundred yards long and had huge vaulted ceilings.

There were no windows, giving the hall a monastic appearance, as if it was somewhere you would go to pray or meditate. Torches were bracketed at even intervals along the wall, flickering beams that illuminated more than they should have been able to. The hall was bright and there were banners from each of the four houses decorating the walls, the only splashes of color in the room.

Every dozen feet or so, against the wall, there were roughly human shaped dummies. Stacked on two round wood tables near the hall's entrance were dozens of copies of the book that Harry had helped Fleur to pick out at Diagon Alley. There were mats on the floor that Harry recognized as being variations on the standard dueling size; some looked fit for two combatants, others for more.

Fleur was at the far end of the hall unrolling one especially large mat that looked to be able to host a dozen people comfortably. She was orchestrating the positioning of the mat with her wand. Her hair was tied back into a loose low ponytail and sweat was beading on her forehead. She looked rather stressed, Harry thought.

Harry walked over to her. She didn't hear his approach. "Need any help?" he asked.

Her concentration wavered and the mat dropped to the floor with a soft flapping sound. She glared at Harry. "I didn't until you interrupted me," she said.

"Everything is easier with two people," Harry said. He rolled up his sleeves dramatically and took out his wand. "Shall we?"

Together they placed the large mat exactly where Fleur wanted it. She sighed when it was finally down, put her wand into a spare pocket, and sat down on the stone floor. Harry sat down on the mat a few feet away.

"I've rearranged this room three times today and I'm still not happy with it," Fleur said.

"You're not unhappy with the room. You're nervous about being in front of so many people," Harry said.

"I was a Triwizard Champion. I'm used to being in front of a lot of people," Fleur said, acting as if the very idea of being nervous was repugnant.

"That's not the same. You were only responsible for yourself then. Now you've agreed to take hundreds of students under your wing and teach them skills that will determine whether or not they survive a civil war. Honestly, you've never done anything so important in your life," Harry said. He stood up and held a hand out to Fleur.

She took his hand and used him to pull herself to her feet. "Since when are you an expert on what I'm thinking?"

"I'm not," Harry said. "But I felt the exact same way last year and I was only teaching two or three dozen people; you're dealing with at least three times that."

"That's why I have you. If anything goes wrong you're the perfect scapegoat," Fleur said.

Ignoring her, Harry said, "I'm afraid I may not be enough. Snape is making attendance for the Dueling Club mandatory for my class, which means he's probably doing it for other classes too. That means you're going to have even more people in here than we planned for."

"Bastard," Fleur said.

"Exactly. That's why I came to help. I thought you might be stressing."

"And so you came to add to my stress," she remarked.

"I've never claimed to be good at relieving stress," Harry said, shrugging.

"Unless you've been drinking," Fleur said, a teasing glint in her eyes. Harry flushed but she didn't say anymore, content to let the memories settle in the air.

So much for relying on her tact.

There wasn't anything in particular she was referring to but the ambiguity was part of what was humiliating; Harry could think of a number of things he had said or done that qualified as embarrassing.

"What can I do to help?" he asked, eager to change the subject.

Fleur let it go without further comment. "Nothing. I've had flyers set up in every common room and now I'm happy with how the room is arranged. All that's left to do is wait until the first meeting next week; it sounds like there will be a much larger crowd than I had thought."

"We might want to look into getting so help," Harry said. "I've got some people in mind that could help with the younger students, the fifth years and below."

"Let's see how many people actually show up before we commit to that," Fleur said.

"If you're not busy then I've got something I could use your help with," Harry said.

"And what's that? More girl trouble?"

"Not this time." She didn't manage to coax a blush. Harry mentally patted himself on the back. He was getting much better about remaining calm when he was around Fleur. She wouldn't be able to mess with him so easily in the future. "Snape, and a few other teachers supposedly, are having us learn to cast nonverbally this year," he said.

"You need help, I assume," Fleur said. She looked him up and down speculatively, like she was debating whether or not he was worth her time.

"It's not like you have anything better to do," Harry cajoled.

"I don't know. I could be reading or getting to know my new students or fraternizing with the faculty; why should I help you?"

"A few reasons. One, you love to lord your superiority over me; two, a competent assistant means a smoothly functioning Dueling Club; three, you can't resist an opportunity to teach and I have no idea what I'm doing. This is excellent practice for you."

"You make a convincing case, Monsieur Potter. Have you ever considered becoming a barrister after you graduated?" Fleur asked.

"That's a yes, then?" Harry asked.

"Yes, it's a yes, and there's no time like the present. Let's start now." Fleur grabbed Harry by the arm and dragged him over to stand about a dozen feet away from one of the dummies in the room. She had him draw his wand and stand in a dueling stance. "Nonverbal casting is all about intent and force of will; the incantation is just a crutch that they want you to use when you're younger. A talented witch or wizard has no need for crutches. Snape didn't give you instruction on how to cast nonverbally because there's little to be had. It's just you and the spell, you have to work it out yourself for the most part."

"Then how can you help me?" Harry asked. It was somewhat irritating to hear Fleur agreeing with Snape. He wanted to validation, to hear that Snape was an awful teacher and have Fleur give him the real way to learn nonverbal casting. To find out that Snape was approaching it correctly was tantamount to saying it would be a failing of Harry's if he didn't get it to work.

"It's often easier to cast nonverbally for the first time when you're relaxed, in a quiet space, with people you trust. Your mental focus is too easily broken when you're in a crowded space. You won't be able to consistently cast nonverbally under pressure for a while. Think of this as a safe space."

"Alright, I'll give it a shot."

"Try with the spell you know the best; the simplest, most familiar, spell you have."

The Disarming Spell was the most obvious choice. Harry faced off against the dummy, wand raised, and steeled his mind, eliminating all other distractions. It was somewhat like preparing his mind for Occlumency but not quite as extreme.

He jabbed his wand and screamed the incantation in his mind, where it echoed off of blank space, the only thought in his head. His perception of the world around him shrunk until it was just him and the dummy and the spell. Fleur was a slight presence on the periphery, sprite-like, easily ignored in the face of more important matters.

It didn't work, of course. He had doubted that his first attempt would. There was no spark of magic, no feeling that came with the successful casting of any spell. The dummy stared back dumbly at him. Harry could hear himself panting, like he had just exerted himself on a strenuous run.

Fleur was watching him without her usual teasing smile. She looked utterly focused on the task at hand. "That was good. I could tell you were focused. Try again; I think that we'll be able to make some progress today."

Harry tried, then tried again, and then a third time. Each time he felt progressively more exhausted. Trying to cast nonverbally was trying to roll a boulder up a hill, except he couldn't get it all the way up and it would roll down to the bottom each time, making him start over again. He could get close, see the top even, but there was a small distance that he couldn't bridge.

It was the difference between feeling the spell and actually getting it to work. Fleur gave a small suggestion each time, telling him to focus on his posture, how he was holding his wand, to block out other thoughts. He wasn't sure how much of an effect her suggestions actually had but he was pleased that she seemed as focused on him succeeding as he was.

It seemed to Harry that each attempt brought him closer to the crest of the hill, as if he were connecting pathways that had lain dormant. Soon they would all light up, brighter together than each separately, and the spell would rip forth. Until then he could only practice and hope.

He had been practicing for nearly an hour before Fleur decided to stop him. "I think that's enough for today," she said, sounding rather pleased. Harry could feel the progress he had made even if he couldn't see it. He had the feeling that some sort of the breakthrough was near, a few dozen more attempts and he could have something.

Fleur was right; there was a massive difference between casting nonverbally with all of his classmates than there was by himself. It was easier to feel out the magic when it was quiet and he could focus on it. He thought Ron and Hermione would like to hear what he had learned, if Hermione hadn't already learned all about it in her books. Ron would find it helpful at least.

"It took me weeks before I cast my first nonverbal spell," Fleur said. "I found it so frustrating. All of my letters home for a month were me complaining about my teachers and how they were being impossible. I drove my parents, and my sister, absolutely mad. You're handling it better than I did."

"I have a patient teacher. I can't see Snape waiting an hour to help me with something that won't show any results for weeks," Harry said.

Fleur waved the compliment away. "You know, there was always something that bothered me about the Triwizard Tournament. We competed against each other but we never directly tested ourselves against each other. No contest to see who the best duelist was, or who had the most talent with transfiguration or charms, or even tests of guile or power. It was all obstacle based and there was so much chance involved in every obstacle. You and I were attacked by Grindylows in the second task but the other two didn't even run into them."

Fleur avoided saying Cedric's name. They all did really. It wasn't a pleasant memory. Harry avoided mentioning the tournament whereas Fleur, who hadn't known him as well, was able to mention the tournament but not his name. Death affected everyone differently, Harry supposed.

"I suppose I'm just saying that it all seemed to involve too much chance. Even the first task involved different obstacles. Your dragon was the most dangerous of the four by far," Fleur said.

"I never thought about it like that but I guess you're right. I think that's a fair representation of life though. Chance almost has more to do with it than skill. There are more things that are out of our control than in. I think that people like to tell themselves they can take charge but really there's too much uncertainty and chaos to ever really be completely in control."

"I never took you for a cynic," Fleur said.

"This isn't cynicism because I don't think it's a bad thing that we don't control everything. People shouldn't have that sort of power."

"A famous hero and a philosopher. So many hidden depths in one boy," Fleur teased.

"You brought it up for a reason?" Harry asked. He was starting to learn that with Fleur you just had to cut through the sarcasm and teasing if you wanted her to get to the point.

"I wanted to test you, see how good you really are. You don't have to if you don't want to but I'm curious. After all, you won the tournament and I came in last place. I've always wondered how we would have matched up one on one."

He could tell that the defeat had been eating away at Fleur for a long time. She sounded eager to prove herself to him, almost like it would redeem her loss in the tournament himself. It wasn't to prove her superiority over him or anything like that. She just needed to redeem herself in her own eyes, remind herself of the talent that she knew she had.

It was a reminder to Harry that no matter how assured Fleur seemed, she had her own very human problems, just like everyone else.

"What exactly does testing me entail?" Harry asked. Fleur brightened, knowing that asking that was practically agreement.

"Since we're the two leading members of the Dueling Club I think it's only fair that we test each other's dueling capabilities, don't you agree?"

"You have three years of experience on me," Harry pointed out.

"Which will only serve to make this more interesting for you," Fleur said.

She walked over to one of the smaller dueling mats, designed for two people, then looked over her shoulder and said, "Come on, Potter. Show that you aren't scared of little old me."

Her blatant attempt at goading him aside, Harry was curious how he would match up against Fleur. Not well, was the answer he suspected. She knew magic that he couldn't perform in his dreams. A three year difference at their age was an almost insurmountable gulf in skill.

The ability to cast nonverbally alone could usually determine a one-on-one duel. The volume of spells Fleur could cast would overwhelm him if he wasn't careful and that wasn't even considering the fact that she had more skill with charms and transfiguration than almost anyone else he knew.

"I'm going to regret this," Harry said, stepping onto the mat with her.

He realized that Fleur was wearing dueling robes, the type that had soft pads and an athletic cut, and wondered just how much of their meeting she had planned. It could be a coincidence…but with Fleur he often got the feeling that nothing was coincidence.

"This is going to be fun," Fleur promised. She bowed to him deeply.

Harry returned the bow and said, "For you."

She struck before the words had left his mouth. A whip of translucent silver magic flashed out at him, swatting at where his feet had been only seconds before. It was slow enough that Harry could evade it. Fleur was testing him, probing his capabilities. He reminded himself that she had never seen him duel before and had no idea what to expect.

" _Stupefy_ ," he said, sending a banal stunner her way. She didn't ever bother to shield against it, sidestepping it instead. The whip still glowed from the tip of her wand.

Before she attacked again Harry sent a trio of spells at her—disarming, stunning, and bludgeoning—in quick succession, muttering the incantations under his breath and moving his mouth as little as possible in the hopes of avoiding giving her advance warning of what he was doing.

One missed Fleur and she swatted the other two out of the air contemptuously. She raised an eyebrow at Harry as if to ask him if that was the best he could do.

Then the duel began in earnest; they traded spells, sacrificing quality for quantity. Harry had never been so pressed to cast spells quickly before. All of his fights had involved cover and running. He had never dueled someone while stuck standing relatively still before.

There were only a few feet he could move making him more vulnerable to sells that affected large areas. Fleur was taking advantage of that by sending Blasting Curses and Bombarding Charms mixed in with every barrage, in the hopes of him missing one and getting blown off the mat.

Harry realized about a minute in that he wasn't going to be able to keep up with Fleur. She was casting too many spells too quickly; it was all he could do to block or dodge the ones she sent at him and return the occasional spell of his own. As the duel wore on he became less offensive and had to settle for a more tortoise-like strategy. He huddled behind a shield and thought, knowing if he didn't come up with something he would lose, and lose handily.

As soon as a lull came in Fleur's spellfire Harry dropped his shield and unleashed a cloud of smog from the tip of his wand. It was a spell he had found in the charms book Fleur had lent him. He could hear her laughing through the smoke, the irony not lost on her either. A couple of spells flashed through the smog, trying to find Harry, but they went far wide.

Fleur tried to get clever and sent a powerful gust of wind to cleave through the smog but, unfortunately for her, it was enchanted, designed to resist all but the most powerful dispersing spells. Fleur was muttering to herself, lashing out with spells in every direction in an attempt to find Harry.

Blasting Curses were fired at random, exploding in various corners of the room, but none of them hit him. Harry could tell that Fleur was getting nervous; she had given up trying to disperse the fog and was instead casting a ceaseless flow of destructive spells trying to disrupt whatever he was planning. The problem with Fleur's strategy was that Harry could see where she was, thanks to her spellfire, but she could only guess where he was.

" _Expelliarmus_ ," Harry whispered, almost noiselessly. The flash of silver bolted at Fleur's back and it was to Harry's great surprise that she turned, almost presciently, before the spell struck her, and sent it careening into the ceiling. The smog in the room had started to disperse because of Harry's inattention to the spell. Fleur and Harry were standing a few feet away from each other.

"Trying to sneak up behind me? That's cheating. You left the mat," she accused.

"It's not like I was going to beat you in a fair fight," Harry said, unbothered by her outrage.

"Our duel isn't over yet," Fleur said.

The margin for error was nonexistent. They were too close to one another. One missed spell would be the end of their duel. Harry's concentration was stretched to the upmost as he deflected or shielded against Fleur's spell while trying to sneak in a few of his own in the hope of getting a lucky strike. He didn't.

Harry only lasted thirty seconds with the blistering pace that Fleur was setting before a Bombarding Charm hit him on the knee and sent him sprawling across the room, his wand torn from his grasp from the force of the blow. Fleur stalked across the room to pick up his wand and twirled it in between her fingers.

The smog had dispersed to the point that it was just a light haziness in the air, an irritant more than an obscurant. Harry was stunned by the spell, slightly dizzy, but not harmed. Fleur hadn't been putting anything like the full power of the spells into what she was throwing at Harry.

"Happy?" Harry asked.

"I didn't expect you to cheat," Fleur said. She seemed genuinely confused. Harry supposed that he hadn't done much to surprise her in the past; she must have thought him very predictable. "I expected to win but I didn't expect you to cheat."

"When your odds aren't great you pull something out of your ass to even things up," Harry said.

"Not the shining paragon of virtue that people assume you are," Fleur teased, once more in control. Harry wasn't sure what she had thought of him before but his willingness to cheat, even if it was something as pointless as their duel (or perhaps because it was something as pointless as their duel) had changed how she thought of him. It always surprised Harry when people expected him to be somehow more perfect than anyone else; even someone as sharp as Fleur expected him to be more honorable than most people, regardless of the situation. Harry was a Gryffindor but he wasn't an idiot.

"Never have been," Harry said.

"I think this Dueling Club is going to work well," Fleur said, a sudden change of subject. Or not so sudden, Harry thought. That may have been less a friendly duel than a test. Fleur may have like him but Harry had never gotten the impression that she respected him in the same way she did Bill or Krum, people who she viewed as serious competitors.

Harry had accomplishments, she admitted that, but they almost didn't seem real to her. And she clearly thought that the chanciness of the Triwizard Tournament excluded that from consideration. Fleur was about as focused on pure talent as anyone Harry had met. He wondered if merely proving he could keep up with her in a duel was enough to earn her respect.

Harry doubted that but he figured that he was on his way. Incremental steps on the road to becoming a wizard to be reckoned with. Earning Fleur's respect was, in its own way, a good measure for how people saw him; not just Hogwarts students but more worldly people. Fleur was more judgmental than most so he figured that if he could earn her respect he could earn anyone's.

"I have high hopes for this year," Harry said.

"Originally I didn't. I thought this was just a stopgap job before I found something else, some serious career that I could devote myself to. But now I think I may have underestimated Hogwarts and its students. If they're anything like you then this will be quite an interesting year."

"Now who's the flatterer," Harry said, trying to hide how touched he was by Fleur's compliment. He got warnings and reprimands all the time but genuine compliments were a rarity.

"When you flew circles around the dragon I thought it was just a demonstration of how little magic you knew. When you saved Gabby from the lake I thought you were a naive little boy, even if your heart was in the right place. Even when you won the tournament I assumed that you had gotten lucky, had all of the competitors and obstacles removed from your path. But that's not it at all. You're a survivor, Harry Potter. You do whatever it takes. I didn't understand that before but I think that I do now."

Though she often seemed deep in thought Harry hadn't ever seen Fleur look so frankly measuring before. Being appraised so openly was disconcerting and a little uncomfortable. Harry looked away.

Finally she said, "I'll see you on Monday, Harry. Come early. I'll want to go over the plan with you before anyone else shows up." Then she left, sweeping out of the room like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Respect was earned in the most unlikely of ways, Harry thought.

* * *

Dumbledore had contacted Harry and asked him to meet him for their first meeting on Saturday night. Hermione was lost in the library somewhere and Ron had volunteered to fish her out. That had been an hour ago and Harry hadn't seen or heard anything from then since. Unable and unwilling to wait any longer he had gone down to the Great Hall to grab a quick dinner before his meeting with Dumbledore.

It was early enough that there weren't many people in the hall. A few gave him strange looks (people were accustomed to seeing Harry in the company of either Ron or Hermione) but most didn't bother with him as they ate quietly. The boisterous crowd didn't show up until later in the night. It was people who liked to grab short quiet meals who showed up early to the Great Hall. Harry didn't see anyone he recognized so he sat down by himself at the Gryffindor table and served himself, taking the choicest cut of the roast beef. He felt exposed without anyone by his side.

For a minute he tried people-watching but they would invariably notice that someone was watching them and meet Harry's eyes. After the third time that happened Harry gave it up as a lost cause. He didn't want to cultivate a reputation for ogling people.

Without anyone to distract him Harry went through his meal quickly. He was nearly finished when Ginny sat down across from him.

"I don't think I've ever seen you eating alone before," she said.

"It doesn't happen often," Harry said. He put down his spoon in favor of talking to Ginny. He didn't want to be too early to meet with Dumbledore, after all.

"I was just going to grab some food and run but you looked so lonely I thought I'd give you some company." Ginny served herself a plate of food, significantly larger than the one Harry had made for himself. She was so small. Harry wondered how she didn't get fat if she always ate like that.

"It's a Weasley thing," Ginny said when she noticed him staring at her plate. "You've been friends with my brother long enough I had thought you would have picked up on it by now."

"I had thought Ron was an exception," Harry said.

"He's not. When are you going to schedule quidditch tryouts? We've been back almost a week and I haven't heard a thing yet." It was nice to see that Ginny wasn't an exception when it came to Weasley single-mindedness.

"I just booked the pitch for next Wednesday. I was going to put up a flyer and spread the word tomorrow. That should give people plenty of time to hear about it."

"A week and a half until we even have tryouts. Wood would throw a fit."

Harry knew he would. Quidditch tryouts had been nagging at him since he got back at school but he had kept putting off scheduling them in the face of what he thought were more important things. He had received a few odd stares from people who he knew were interested in trying out but none had been bold enough to approach him. Except Ginny.

Since his conversation with Fleur he had been avoiding Ginny for the most part. It was nothing too obvious, like ducking out of the room when she entered, but he certainly hadn't been going out of his way to talk to her. He still wasn't sure how he felt about her almost monomaniacal pursuit of him. Flattered at times and uncomfortable with it other times. He had been putting off deciding what to do about Ginny as well.

Every day was busy for Harry. He spent hours in class, then hours doing homework despite the fact that they had just gotten back to school, then he spent time working on his nonverbal casting and planning out his lessons for his Dueling Club charges. Fleur wanted a draft of his plan at least the day before the club met for the first time and Harry was only about halfway done, most of that coming from what he and Hermione had worked out over the summer. Harry had a newfound respect for teachers. Creating a lesson plan was much harder than he had anticipated.

"Don't worry. You'll be having more than enough practice soon enough. If you make the team, that is," Harry said. Fleur's banter with him had rubbed off. He found himself teasing and pushing people even in casual conversation.

"I wouldn't worry about me making the team," Ginny said with a confident tilt of the mouth. Harry thought that Fleur and Ginny were more alike than either was willing to admit; they both had a level of self-assurance that put the average witch to shame.

"If you don't make the team I may have another job for you," Harry said. Whatever his feelings toward Ginny romantically he still admired the skill she had demonstrated both in the DA and at the Ministry the year before.

"And what might that be?" Ginny asked, almost coquettishly. Harry had to resist the urge to look around to make sure Dean Thomas wasn't in the room.

"Fleur and I think that the Dueling Club is going to have more members than we had originally planned for. A lot more. If that's true then we're going to need help, especially with the younger students. I don't want to slow down your learning but I thought you would be able to help with the first and second years especially. They'll need the most hands-on help."

"Who else are you thinking about asking?"

"Ron and Hermione."

Ginny waved her hand to say that much was obvious and looked surprised when Harry didn't list any more names. "That's it? Ron, Hermione, and me?"

"It's not exactly easy to pick qualified teachers out of a bunch of teenagers," Harry said. Creating a list of qualified students that could help was something else that he had been slacking on. There was so much work that he had to do that he seemed to be working just a bit on everything and not enough to actually get anything done.

She patted his hand with faux sympathy. "Don't worry, Harry. You've come to the right place."

"How relieving," Harry said.

"I can have a list of likely candidates by Monday. I'm not sure how many you need so I'll give a dozen or so in order of helpfulness. You've really got to get out more, Harry. You've been here a full year longer than me and seem to know half as many people."

"Being a pariah every other year isn't exactly conducive to having a large group of friends," Harry said.

"I suppose not," Ginny said. "Where are Ron and Hermione, anyway? It's not like Ron to miss a meal."

"Hermione is somewhere in the library and Ron went to hunt her down. That was a while ago. I couldn't wait any longer. Dumbledore wants to meet with me."

Eyes widening slightly, Ginny scooted forward on her bench and said, "What does Dumbledore want you for? Are you getting advanced lessons?"

"I'm not sure yet," Harry admitted.

"Oh." Ginny leaned back and went back to eating her meal. Dumbledore's name was like a shot of adrenaline for most people, Harry had noticed. With Voldemort's cronies it was a name that inspired fear and anger. For the rest of the wizarding world it aroused focus and admiration. Dumbledore was a real life larger-than-life figure but he managed to keep any of that from showing when you spoke to him. He had never been anything less than humble and kind to Harry.

"How long is it until your meeting?" Ginny asked. She had finished her food at the same time Harry did. Weasleys, Harry thought with amusement.

"I've got another half-an-hour I think."

"You get to be my escort back to the tower then. No point in going to Dumbledore's office early and I don't want to walk by myself."

Harry did enjoy Ginny's company. She challenged him, gave him a kick when he wasn't moving fast enough, and his conversations with her were usually far ranging and interesting.

He was able to put his knowledge of her infatuation with him in the back of his mind when they talked. She hid it well. If Fleur hadn't said something Harry probably would never have noticed.

"I make it a habit to never leave a damsel in distress," Harry said, making an attempt at being gallant. Ginny just snorted and got up, walking out of the hall without looking back to see if Harry was following.

Harry caught up to her and felt the need to say something. "So, where's Dean?" he asked. He almost cringed when he said that; there were too many ways for Ginny to take that. It sounded like a clumsy come-on.

Fortunately for Harry she didn't seem to take it like that. "He said that he had some work to do tonight. Honestly, I'm thinking of breaking up with him." Ginny looked at Harry to gauge his reaction.

He didn't let any emotion sweep over his face, pushing down on what he was feeling. Part of him was pleased. Every time he saw Dean and Ginny together he became irritated. He knew it was irrational but it made him jealous. Which was, no doubt, exactly what Ginny wanted.

Harry supposed that was a testament to how much he enjoyed Ginny's company. Another part of him was still worried about the extent of her feelings toward him. Harry never wanted to be the partner in a relationship that was so imbalanced that one person was madly infatuated and the other was more blasé. He didn't think he could muster the depths of feeling for Ginny that she seemed to have for him.

"Why is that?" Harry asked.

"There isn't really any spark between us. I like him, enjoy his company and he's a great kisser, but there's something missing there. You ever feel like that?"

Harry thought about Cho. He couldn't say that he had even enjoyed her company or that either of them had been great kissers. "Can't say that I have," he said.

"No advice for me then?" Ginny asked. She was trying to get him to confront her situation, make a definitive statement either way, Harry could see. It was her way of feeling him out for any potential romantic feelings. If he expressed a strong interest in her breaking up with Dean she would likely take that for an expression of interest in her on his part.

Rather than commit either way he said, "You should do what makes you happy, Ginny. If Dean isn't making you happy then you should break up with him."

She didn't seem thrilled with his response and said, "I'm not unhappy with Dean. I just can't help but feel that I could be happier, like there's something else out there and I'm missing it. You can't tell me you've never felt like that before; like happiness was just out of reach, but if you take a chance you'll be able to find it."

"That's a heavy thought for your fifth year," Harry said. "We've got our whole lives to figure out what'll make us happy in the long run. I've always thought about Hogwarts as a place to…experiment, I suppose. Try to figure out what will make me happy."

"Maybe you're right. But sometimes the things that could make us happy will slip away if we wait too long," she said, with a note of warning.

"I'll keep that in mind," Harry said.

"I'm not telling you what to do, Harry, but I think that we're friends and as your friend I have to say that you never seem focused on your own happiness. Not everything has to be conflict and sacrifice. Life is more than just the next obstacle. There's friendship and joy and love."

"I know that Ginny," he said, a bit shortly. It was like lines had been drawn. Ginny had laid out her position and Harry remained noncommittal, unwilling to make a decision that would upset the practiced balance in his life. The problem was that he couldn't say that she was wrong. Harry didn't do a lot of things that made him happy. Quidditch and his friends were about the extent of the list. Ginny was offering him something. Could he really say that he wasn't interested? Wasn't it worth a chance?

The whole conversation had been a thinly veiled statement. Ginny was waiting for him, willing to drop Dean. He needed only to say the word. But he had to be willing to take the risk. Commit to a relationship that would fundamentally alter his life.

There was something frightening about that. The changes in Harry's life were usually forced upon him. He didn't choose to be a wizard or come to Hogwarts so much as they were the only viable alternative to the Dursleys. He didn't choose to be Voldemort's foe; that was forced upon him too. His friendships with Ron and Hermione were a matter of circumstance as much as choice. They just seemed to find each other.

Romance wasn't like friendship. Friendship was a naturally evolving organism that subtly entwined itself into your life. Romance was a matter of forcing companionship to determine compatibility and it required work in a way other relationships didn't. It changed lives in the way that a friendship didn't. It took more out of people than friendship, and Harry was still a little leery of it after his aborted attempt with Cho, which hadn't been the most favorable first try.

They were close enough to the tower that Harry didn't feel the need to start another conversation. The two of them walked in silence, lost in their own thoughts, their own impression of what had happened between them.

Outside of the Fat Lady, Harry said, "I understand what you're saying, Ginny. And you're not wrong. I just…need time to think."

"That's alright. I thought you might," she said. She bit her lip, looking to be arguing with herself for a moment, then leaned up on her toes and kissed Harry on the cheek.

Her lips were soft and cool and exactly like Harry had imagined. For a moment he wanted nothing more than to lean down and kiss her back, not chastely on the cheek but commandingly, on the lips, to see if there really was something between them. He thought that there was. But Harry didn't dare.

"Good luck with your meeting with Dumbledore," Ginny said. She gave the password to the Fat Lady and went into the common room.

Harry was left by himself, on the brink of something, but not quite sure what it was.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Thanks to everyone over at DLP who took the time to read and comment on this chapter. A special thanks to Al'Akir who told me about the VPN I used to get around the block on FFN to post this chapter.**

 **All mistakes are, as always, my own.**

 **Chapter IV**

Being released from the pensieve was a disconcerting feeling; it was the substitution of one solid ground for another in the blink of an eye, not dissimilar from apparation. Dumbledore was unruffled but Harry had to grab on to the edge of the pensieve to steady himself.

"It is often those who have had the worst done to them that do the worst to others in turn, and Tom Riddle's story is one to be pitied," Dumbledore said.

"With family like that it's a wonder that he was even sane at all," Harry said. Voldemort had never seemed a person deserving of pity before, and Harry still couldn't quite make the connection in his mind between the snake-like figure that was Voldemort with that family, but it was easy to make the connection between Tom Riddle and that family, almost as if they were separate entities.

"We should never let go of our compassion and pity, Harry. Despise Voldemort for the atrocities he has committed but never forget the roots of his anger and misery. If we understand the origins of evil then my hope is that one day we will, in a brighter future, be able to combat evil itself," Dumbledore said.

Having compassion for Voldemort seemed incomprehensible to Harry. Pity, yes; his upbringing had been less than ideal, clearly. But compassion was a step beyond that. It was too close to forgiveness for Harry's comfort.

Harry didn't believe that upbringing was the final determiner of one's fate. The Dursleys hadn't consigned him to success or failure. He was more than just a product of his environment.

"Riddle made his choices," Harry said, his voice harder than he had intended it to be.

Dumbledore sighed and said, "Tom Riddle was the product of generations of inbreeding culminating in what can only be considered as rape. He was raised in an orphanage during a time of strife and scarcity. I am not excusing him, Harry. I am seeking to understand what made him what he is today. Surely you see in your own friends the seeds of their parents? We are not often so different from those who birthed and raised us. Tom Riddle is just one of many examples of that."

Harry could see what Dumbledore was saying. Ron and Ginny were, on the whole, very much like the rest of their family. Judging from what he had seen Draco Malfoy was almost a perfect continuation of Lucius Malfoy. Hermione had told him that her parents were almost as bookish as she was.

The influence of parentage was heavy-handed more often than not, leaving marks that were enduring in both mind and body. It shouldn't have surprised Harry then that Riddle had madness lurking within him if what Harry had seen was any indication of what his family was like. Being raised an orphan would only exacerbate such traits.

It made Harry wonder what his parents were like, and what he would have been like if he had been raised by them.

Dumbledore seemed to understand where Harry's mind was turning and, softly, he said, "I remember your parents well, Harry, and you remind me very much of them. Parentage is not fate, but it does load the dice, if I may use that expression."

"We still have choices. People shouldn't be excused just because of who their parents are and what they've been through," Harry said.

"There we are in total agreement. I am not trying to excuse Tom Riddle; merely to understand him. We can only achieve total victory over our enemies when we understand them," Dumbledore said with a slight weary smile.

"You really think that understanding Voldemort will help us to defeat him?" Harry asked. He trusted Dumbledore, more than he trusted almost anyone else, but such hopefulness seemed to border on the foolhardy to him. Wars were won with soldiers and money. Harry didn't need to pay attention in Binns' class to know that.

"I do. The reason Voldemort has never been able to win is that he has never understood what drives those who resist him. If he understood friendship and love as well as he does fear and power we would have no chance of victory. Of course, if Tom understood love and friendship it is likely that we would never have had this war in the first place."

"Understanding Voldemort is important, but isn't it also important to be able to fight him as well? You could teach me, sir. Spells that could help us to fight back against Voldemort. I'm willing to learn."

Dumbledore's smile faded. His body seemed to tense and his focus drift. Harry had seen the same look from Moody when he was asked about the first war. It was the look of someone recalling horrors that they didn't wish to speak about or even remember.

He knew at once that Dumbledore wasn't going to teach him. Good men never sought to pass on the tools they used to destroy. They lived with the hope, however slim, that those tools would never need to be used again.

"No, Harry. This war will not be won by martial might alone, no matter how much it may seem that way. The gap between you and Voldemort is too great. Perhaps even insurmountable. Tom was a prodigy among prodigies. I say that not to frighten you, but to make you understand that any sort of direct assault on the Dark Lord by yourself would be madness. The idea that a teenager, no matter how well-trained or talented, could defeat a Dark Lord with nearly a century's experience beggars the imagination."

Harry pressed on, not denying what Dumbledore was saying but trying to make the headmaster realize how impotent he felt, how useless, like a package that had to be ferried cautiously from one safe place to another. "It's not just Voldemort who's the threat though. He has Death Eaters and werewolves and giants under his command too. If I can't protect my friends then what good am I to the rest of the world?"

His argument seemed to physically pain Dumbledore. Harry wondered if dangling the possible deaths of his students over his head was going too far. He didn't want to blackmail Dumbledore. He just wanted to make sure that the people he loved would be safe.

The disaster at the Ministry could never be allowed to repeat itself. Nobody else was going to die so that Harry could live. He had promised himself that.

"It is not my intention to staunch your development, Harry," Dumbledore said at last. "I am going to be completely frank with you. I have neither the time nor the energy to teach you. If this were last year, things might be different. But there are factors outside of my control that make such tutelage impossible."

Dumbledore rested his hand, the desiccated blackened hand that he had been trying to hide from Harry all night, on the top of his desk. His words took on a more physical meaning.

"Over the summer I destroyed an artifact that was dear to Lord Voldemort. Due to his defenses, and my own regrettable foolishness, I suffered a grave injury in the process. The curse that did this has been contained, thanks in no small part to Professor Snape, but the fact remains that I have been diminished. It is all I can do to conceal my weakness from Voldemort to prevent him from taking advantage of it. All false modesty aside, Harry, once I am gone there is little to prevent Voldemort's conquest of the Ministry and, by extension, Britain."

Harry couldn't escape from the hand in front of him. It was a ruin, a caricature of something that had once been alive. To hear that Dumbledore was so weakened broke something in Harry, brought fear to the surface. He had never before doubted Dumbledore's ability to keep his students safe. For Dumbledore to admit that he was fading meant the matter was even more severe than he was letting on. He wasn't the sort of man to burden others with his troubles.

"I'm sorry to burden you with such knowledge, Harry, but you deserved to know. It goes without saying that you can tell no one else about this," Dumbledore said. He let his sleeve fall down over his hand, removing all but the tip of one darkened finger from sight.

"I understand, professor," Harry said, as if in a daze.

"In the interest of supporting your growth as a wizard I will aid you, albeit somewhat indirectly. I had a delightful conversation with Miss Delacour in which she told me about your newfound interest in advanced charms." Harry wasn't sure but he thought that Dumbledore sounded amused. He made sure to press down on his embarrassment. Dumbledore could think what he wanted.

"Since Miss Delacour assures me that you thoroughly understood that material, complex as it is, there are a number of books in my personal library that you might find interesting. They're a poor substitute for an engaged teacher but, alas, often we must make do only with what is available to us. I ask only that you keep these books for your own use. They would be a temptation for our enemies if they were to discover you had them."

The way Dumbledore was talking about the books it sounded like they were serious works. Harry could see Hermione ambushing someone for rare books but the idea that Death Eaters would be tempted to steal the ones that Dumbledore was giving him bordered on the absurd.

"Thank you," Harry said, pleased with the outcome of their conversation. It wasn't as good as having Dumbledore teach him directly but it was better than the nothing he had expected.

"I'll get them now. The more time you have to study them the better," Dumbledore said. He was gone for a few minutes, rummaging around in a room adjacent to his office. When he returned he was carrying three volumes, holding them like they were treasured artifacts.

The books weren't standard size, being smaller than Harry's textbooks, and they had no writing on the front or spines other than a roman numeral embossed in silver on each cover; I, II, and III, respectively. A series, Harry supposed. If there was an author listed it would only be on the inside.

Dumbledore held the books out and Harry took them, cradling them gently in his arms. "Be careful with them," Dumbledore said. "They're quite irreplaceable."

"I will be," Harry promised. Dumbledore looked satisfied and sat back down behind his desk.

"Now, since I've been lead to understand that you're involved, tell me how the Dueling Club is coming along. You haven't had your first meeting yet."

"We haven't, professor, but it's looking like a lot of students are going to show up. Professor Snape is making all of his students 5th year and up attend as a class requirement." Which was probably the best thing Snape had ever done for Hogwarts, Harry thought.

"Professor Snape has always been a firm believer in the merits of a Hogwarts Dueling Club. The prospect was tantalizing enough that he even allowed himself to assist Professor Lockhart with his short lived Dueling Club your second year."

"Fleur and I don't think that the two of us will be enough to manage everyone who's going to show up. Once we have a head count from our first meeting we're going to try to find a couple of assistants."

"I must admit, Harry, I hadn't anticipated the club being such a hit when I hired Miss Delacour. I am glad that the students are responding well. These are dangerous times and it will sooth me in my more troubled moments to know that you are helping to prepare your classmates for the world outside of Hogwarts' walls."

The mention of the Dueling Club seemed to improve Dumbledore's mood. When he had been telling Harry about his infirmity his mood had dulled, become melancholy, but when they came to the idea of students learning to protect themselves and others he cheered immensely.

Harry thought that Dumbledore probably took the same view of it that he did; every technique and spell learned would be one extra tool people would have to keep themselves safe. For a teacher as invested in his students as Dumbledore there was no greater prize than to see his students safe, successful, and happy.

"I think that Fleur has become really devoted to the club," Harry said.

"Miss Delacour has never struck me as someone willing to put less than all of herself into an endeavor. It's for that very quality that I hired her. If it's instructors you're looking for Harry, you could do far worse than Miss Delacour. Her talent, considering her age, is considerable. There are few more qualified for the position she holds."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. He looked older than Harry had remembered. It was like years of deferred aging were crashing down on the headmaster all at once.

"I've come to realize that myself, sir," Harry said, getting the impression that Dumbledore was no longer listening to him.

Dumbledore stood up abruptly and said, "It's getting late and I don't wish to hold you any longer than necessary. Take a look at those books, discreetly. I'll send a note before our next meeting."

Harry recognized the dismissal for what it was and said, "Yes, professor. Thank you."

As he was leaving Dumbledore's office Harry wondered if it hadn't been pain that had come over the headmaster's face when he stood up. The thought of Dumbledore's frailty was a terrifying one. Harry clutched the books he had been given even tighter, hoping that the knowledge within would be enough to shield his friends from the darkening world.

* * *

Harry hadn't wanted to go to Slughorn little party, his 'Slug Club' meeting, but Ron and Hermione had both been invited and they had convinced him to put in an appearance. He consoled himself with the thought that it couldn't be that bad and he could always leave once he got bored.

Ron had seemed pleased to be invited, even if it was to something as pretentious as the Slug Club, and even though his invitation was due solely to the pioneering techniques he had copied from the Half-Blood Prince's book. Harry supposed he wasn't in any position to judge. It wasn't like Slughorn was inviting him on his own merit either. Fame drew Slughorn like a moth to a flame.

Instead of Hermione supporting him in his dislike of parties like he had expected, she'd decided to side with Ron. The Slug Club was, in her words, "A networking opportunity." Slughorn seemed to know a lot of promising students and was in touch with some of Hogwarts' more illustrious alumni so Hermione decided to go for their sake, hough she shared Harry's low opinion of Slughorn.

The party was being held in one of the dungeon's more spacious (and less gloomy) chambers. Charmed windows let artificial light stream in to the room. Outside of the window was a wild stretching plain with long vibrant grass and golden wheat growing in equal measure. Small animals grazed in the distance, too far away to make out what exactly they were.

It was nighttime at Hogwarts. Harry wasn't sure whether it was an imagined scene or charmed to show somewhere else in the world. Judging from the unearthliness of the locale, it was artificial.

The three of them entered together, Harry scratching at the uncomfortably tight collar of one of his more formal robes, and stood awkwardly at the door, unsure of how to start mingling. There looked to be an equal measure of students, alumni, and guests.

A number of their classmates seemed perfectly at ease with the surroundings. Harry supposed that they had had practice with such gatherings growing up. The Dursleys had never been ones for large gatherings; when they invited someone to their home it was for the purpose of ceaseless flattery, which worked best in small settings.

Membership of the Slug Club had changed somewhat, Harry saw. People that he had heard had been invited for the first meeting on the train weren't present. Neville was notable among the absences. Others, like Ron, who had only demonstrated their abilities once school had started, were late additions to the roster. None of the students present were below their 5th year. Harry knew by name and sight almost all of the students gathered. A few had been in the DA, but most were nothing more than acquaintances to him.

"I think that was Celestina Warbeck," Ron said, eyeing a tall woman who was laughing graciously at something that Slughorn said.

"He definitely attracts the powerful and influential," Hermione said. She was scanning the crowd as intently as Harry. Her eyes widened when she saw an older woman, rather crotchety looking, in a corner of the room. "That's Simone Beauvois," she breathed, pushing past Ron and Harry to introduce herself.

"Who's Simone Beauvois?" Ron asked.

"I have no idea," Harry said.

"We should probably start to mingle." Ron sounded nervous at the prospect. Small talk was no more his forte than it was Harry's.

"Look for someone we know," Harry suggested. They could pretend to be busy until it was late enough to leave without being rude.

Ron nodded. Someone pushed past them from behind and Harry realized that they were still blocking the doorway. "There's Ginny," Ron said. She was talking to a pale older couple, and seemed to be enjoying herself, judging by her animated hand gestures and wide smile.

"You go say hi. I see someone else I should go talk to," Harry said. He and Ginny hadn't spoken since their walk back to Gryffindor Tower the night before. A few glances had been exchanged from across the room but Harry was still pondering what she had said to him and she was giving him space. He wasn't comfortable talking to her at the party, dancing around the real issue, pretending that it didn't exist.

"If you're sure," Ron said. He pushed his way over to where Ginny was and stuck a hand out to the bemused couple which the older gentlemen took and shook vigorously. Ginny looked over at Harry, met his eyes for a moment, then turned away and introduced Ron to the couple.

That left Harry in the unenviable position of finding someone in a crowd of strangers to talk to. It shouldn't be so difficult for the Boy-Who-Lived to find someone to chat with, he thought ruefully.

Harry skirted around the edge of the room so as to no longer be blocking the doorway. He saw Susan Bones and Cormac McLaggen at opposite ends of the room but didn't feel any great desire to talk to them. McLaggen was an arrogant git and Susan, though nice, was completely vapid, in sharp contrast to her formidable aunt. Harry figured he could make conversation with Susan if he had to but that was really a last resort. McLaggen wasn't even an option; Harry would rather charge into the midst of angry dragons than inflict that boy's company on himself.

For lack of anything better to do Harry went over to the drinks table. He poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice. There was a bowl of punch with a calligraphic warning for no underage students to partake.

Bottles of wine and some stronger drinks were lined up along the table. Many had been opened already; one bottle of whisky was nearly empty. Harry thought that there were worse ways to prepare oneself for a long evening of mindless conversation. He debated whether or not to help himself to a glass of wine. It could help pass the time and he didn't think anyone would say anything as long as he avoided Slughorn.

"You look like you're having fun," Fleur said, her voice coming from right behind him, sounding like she was trying to stifle laughter. At his expense, no doubt.

She was only a foot behind him, having managed to sneak up on him without him noticing, one hand holding an empty wine glass and the other cocked on her hip.

She had eschewed robes for the party and was wearing a dress of patterned deep blue that tightened in some interesting places and flowed easily over others. She looked stunning, Harry thought. He was usually able to ignore the fact that Fleur was a beautiful woman (or so he liked to tell himself) but the dress made that difficult.

Very difficult, he amended, pushing his eyes back up to meet hers. Fleur cocked an eyebrow but didn't say anything. She came up next to him and refilled her glass of wine.

"I'm not really the partying type," Harry admitted, blushing uncomfortably. Surely she had seen him ogling her?

"No, I didn't think you were, but this isn't really a party," Fleur said.

"Not a party?"

"No. This is a meeting for the influential and the promising; gatherings like this divide the world in better times."

"And what about in dark times?" Harry asked.

"In dark times they plot how to divide the world in better times," Fleur responded, drawing a grin from Harry.

"So I shouldn't trust any of them is what you're telling me," he said.

"Just stay close to me, Harry. I'll protect you."

He laughed and took a swig of the pumpkin juice. Fleur looked at the cup disdainfully, as if he was offending her by drinking such swill in her presence.

"I can't believe you're drinking pumpkin juice right now. Look at this table. Slughorn is many things but stingy isn't one of them. There are some of the finest wines from around the world to choose from. This one is a bottle of Cheval Blanc, the 1947 vintage. I'd never tasted anything so exquisite before tonight." She already looked flushed, smiling easily with lidded eyes.

"I'm not allowed to drink, Fleur. Besides, from the look of things you've already done enough drinking for the both of us," he said.

She laughed, leaning her free hand on Harry's shoulder, and said, "Don't be ridiculous. You're not going to get in trouble for drinking here and I need a partner. There's nothing more pathetic than a beautiful woman drinking by herself, Harry."

"You're so modest," he said, allowing her to pour him a glass of the Cheval Blanc. The glasses that Slughorn had provided were enormous. Judging from the quality and quantity of drinks available, Slughorn expected people to drink heavily at his party. None of the other underage students were drinking as far as Harry could tell but everyone of-age was partaking. It seemed like wizards had never heard of teetotalism.

Fleur clinked her glass against Harry's and they took a drink together.

"Not bad," Harry said. It was better than the wine that Fleur had given him, hitting his mouth like melted butter, somehow less than entirely liquid. Wizarding wine, he supposed.

"Not bad," Fleur said, mimicking his voice. "This is one of the finest wines you'll ever drink. What I gave you is nothing compared to this; it's like comparing a lamp to the sun. It's an insult to wines everywhere."

Overblown rhetoric aside, Harry had to admit that the wine was good. It was stronger than the port that Fleur had given him. Uncle Vernon never drank anything but whisky and gin. He said that wine was a drink for women and that beer was just flavored water, but Harry was growing fond of wine.

It struck him as a fine balance, combining the pleasures of taste and intoxication. He could see why Fleur was so fond of it, though he was becoming convinced that she consumed just a bit too much for her own good. But, he figured, he was in no position to judge her.

"Who should I introduce you to?" Fleur asked. She looked out at the crowd speculatively, seeming to dismiss most without a second glance, the air of a seasoned socialite about her.

"I don't know anyone here other than the students," Harry said, trying to follow Fleur's eyes.

"That's Barnabas Cuffe, the editor-in-chief of the Daily Prophet. Next to him is Podric Smithsworthy, the famous English duelist. He lives abroad in Spain but returns every now and then. I've heard that he's trying to raise support for a campaign to return as champion of the international dueling circuit, which would explain why he's talking to Cuffe, who he normally wouldn't be caught dead with."

"And that woman?" Harry asked, pointing at the elderly witch Hermione was talking to.

"Simone Beauvois. She's a Frenchwoman, one of the few that are willing to lower themselves to live in Britain." Fleur laughed at her rare self-deprecating joke. "She's famous for her contributions to magical creature rights. Clever woman. She left France because of the hostility to her ideas. Britain was more accepting, though not by all that much."

"Britain is more accepting than France?" Harry asked, shocked that there could be governments more intolerant than Britain's Ministry of Magic.

"In some respects, yes. In others, no," Fleur said, drinking more of her wine.

"How do you know all of these people?"

"Please, Harry. The French invented these sorts of parties."

Fleur walked away. Harry followed and said, "That's not an answer."

She stopped in front of a middle-aged man with thin, finely combed hair, and, to Harry's surprise, a monocle. She segued easily into an introduction, bringing Harry to stand next to her, plastering a lazy smile that Harry could easily see was fake on her face.

Richard Rastler, as he announced himself, was responsible for the implementation of the banned spells list at the ministry. He and Harry spoke at some length about what qualified a spell for a place on the list, how they enforced it, the prison sentence, and the career path of someone in the ministry, especially his branch. Fleur occasionally deigned to drop a pithy comment into the conversation. Before Rastler left, after seeing someone he _absolutely_ had to speak to, he gave Harry his card. It had the man's name and an animated roaring lion on the front.

After he had left, Harry said, "He seemed nice enough. You would think he wouldn't be so eager to talk shop at a party though."

"You're missing the point, Harry. This isn't a party. It's a place to meet people who can be helpful to you in the future. You just have to mingle. You're the Boy-Who-Lived. They'll all be dying to talk to you."

Harry finished his glass of wine and said, "I hate mingling." He knew that he sounded petulant and supposed he deserved it when Fleur rolled her eyes at him. She led him back over to the drinks table where she refilled both of their glasses.

"Nobody likes talking shop, but they know that if they don't then their competitors will and then they'll fall behind. You could do a lot of good if you leveraged your fame. Not tonight, maybe not even next time, but eventually. Pick and choose your associates based on what they can do for you and what they want from you. People with powerful allies are stronger than loners. Look at Slughorn. He's a decent potions master but that's not how he's drawing the rich, famous, and powerful to a school party. He does it because he has enough relationships with influential people who want to come to see him that attract the rest of the people here. Slughorn, by himself, is the weakest man here. With his connections he's among the most powerful." Fleur took a deep drag from her glass, rewarding herself for explaining something so patently obvious to Harry.

"That sounds like selling yourself," Harry said.

"It is like selling yourself. That's why you have to make sure you're selling yourself to the right person."

"I'm not so sure," Harry said. It wasn't that he didn't understand the value of influence. The problem was that for influence you sacrificed your independence and maneuverability. One's allies and friends reflect on them, Harry thought, and he wasn't sure that he was willing to make alliances or even agreements with people he barely knew. The approach that Fleur was recommending had merit but the risks frightened Harry.

Harry saw that Hermione had finally ended her conversation with Beauvois, looking elated to have had at the chance to talk to her. She went over and grabbed Ron who was sulking next to Ginny and the older couple, not seeming to be having anywhere near the fun his sister was. They walked over to where Harry and Fleur were. Hermione eyed Harry's drink with anxiety, Ron with interest.

"I don't think that Professor Slughorn put those drinks out for us," Hermione said, after a cursory hello to Fleur.

"Slughorn won't care," Harry said, repeating what Fleur had told him and feeling bolder now that he had some wine in him. Hermione's fears seemed so much more ridiculous than they would have earlier. He was going to get in trouble for drinking when the fate of the wizarding world was on his shoulders? Not likely.

"I think it's brilliant," Ron said. "I want a glass."

"No, Ron. Professor Slughorn doesn't like us nearly as much as he likes Harry. We'd actually get in trouble if we got something to drink." Ron deflated like a popped balloon. They all knew that Hermione was right but Harry felt somewhat hurt that she had to put it like that. He didn't ask for Slughorn to like him. It didn't make him an awful person to take advantage of the fact that he was favored, through no fault of his own.

"He won't notice a thing. He's usually had too much himself to notice even half of what goes on during these parties," Fleur assured Hermione, her voice more comforting than usual.

"That's alright. We're fine," Hermione said.

Harry could practically feel Fleur's opinion of Hermione dropping, and vice versa. It was impossible for Hermione to want to break laws and rules (without an overwhelming reasons) and impossible for Fleur to respect them if she thought them foolish. More than anything else it was a case of conflicting personalities; the independent against the fastidious.

"Who were you talking to, Ron?" Harry asked. The less the two bickering women spoke to each other the better off they would all be, he suspected.

"I don't know what they do and I don't remember their names but I'm pretty sure that they're vampires," Ron said. He didn't dare turn back and look at the couple but Harry could have sworn he saw the man's head turn in their direction, just for a split second.

"Vampires?" Hermione asked. Where Ron was frightened she sounded fascinated. Harry was curious as well. Werewolves had an unfairly bad reputation in the wizarding world. It was possible that vampires were subjected to the same discrimination.

"Yeah, bloodsucking creatures that hate sunlight. Knockturn Alley is full of them. They usually don't bother wizards because they're so vulnerable to sunlight. It's easy to protect yourself against them if you know they're there," Ron said.

The gaps between the knowledge of pureblood children and the rest of them never ceased to astound Harry. Ron took it for granted that he knew things like that. Fleur was the same way, sometimes; like how she had known who everyone at Slughorn's party was.

"Vampires usually have their own societies, separate from wizards. They're a lot like goblins, actually. Wizards don't interact with them very much. They prefer to live their own lives," Fleur said.

Harry finished his glass of wine. Hermione watched him, judging, scrutinizing. Ron just looked envious.

"How was your conversation with Madam Beauvois?" Fleur asked Hermione. It was her equivalent of extending an olive branch and Harry made a mental note to thank her later. He was pleased that she was making an effort with his friends.

"She's a genius," Hermione said, brightening immediately. "I've read all of her books and subscribe to _Creatures Monthly_ just because they always put out something about her work. Nobody's pushing the field of magical creature rights as far as she is right now. She was explaining her new compatibility theory of creature relations to me and it's absolutely fascinating. I can't believe she got such a negative reaction in France."

Harry felt Fleur stiffen beside him. "Yes, well, genius often isn't recognized immediately."

Hermione carried on, oblivious. "I agree but they really missed out on someone special with her. She promised that I could write her with any questions I have about her work. Really, she's a charming lady."

"So I've been told," Fleur said, blandly. Her fountain of goodwill was only so large, Harry supposed. Insults to France tended to dry it up quickly. Sarcasm and teasing between friends was one of Fleur's favorite pastimes but rudeness, intentional or otherwise, was something she wouldn't abide by. Hermione lacked some, or even most, of the social graces that Fleur was raised on.

"Sounds amazing Hermione," Harry said, spicing his tone with some sharpness, trying to get across her faux pas.

"I think I'm going to get out of here," Ron said, realizing what Harry was saying and willing to extricate Hermione before she and Fleur argued openly. "This isn't really my scene. Walk me back, Hermione?"

Hermione seemed reluctant to leave but even more reluctant to say no to Ron. "Alright," she said, after being visibly conflicted.

Ron took her by the arm and led her out of the room, chatting amicably about something with her as they left. Harry shot him a grateful glance as they left.

"She's clever. Unfortunately, she has the polish of an illiterate child. You can't get anywhere if you don't know when to stop talking," Fleur said. Her assessment was caustic, but, Harry thought, not entirely wrong. Snape had repeatedly cut Hermione off mid-explanation during lessons. Hermione had a tendency to get so wrapped up in what she was saying that she didn't think about who she was talking to.

That didn't mean that Harry was entirely happy with how Fleur had handled it. "I know. But you should be nice to her. She means well and she's smart; the smartest person I know. You'd like her if you started talking to her about charms or runes or another one of your nerdy interests."

Fleur rewarded him with a slight curling of the lips for his teasing and said, "Perhaps. As for now we need more to drink and someone other than your friends to talk to. As much as it might assuage your ego to think so I didn't come here to talk exclusively to you."

"You have other options, sure. But I'm the best option."

"So confident," Fleur said, giving a full smile, her displeasure at Hermione's comment abating.

Fleur was mercurial, Harry thought. Easily offended but easily assuaged. Her opinion of people changed with the tide and she lacked respect for the great majority of people but, for all that, remained an excellent teacher.

In a lot of ways she was just more interesting than the majority of people Harry dealt with on a regular basis. Some of that was unfamiliarity—friends were always more interesting when you were still getting to know them—but he couldn't escape the feeling that she would remain more compelling than anyone else even after he truly got to know her. Fleur cultivated herself intellectually, socially, and physically; where most people cultivated one of those, if any.

"I don't really want to talk to other people," Harry said. The prospect of making conversation with more strangers was about as appealing as sitting through Hermione's inevitable rant on the dangers of alcohol on school premises.

"Then I suppose that, for your sake, we can entertain ourselves. I refuse to leave though. You get the opportunity to drink wine like this only a few times in your life," Fleur said. She held her glass up to the light, inspecting it as if she could find the secrets to the universe somewhere inside.

"I suppose that's acceptable," Harry said, feeling pleased, like he was stealing Fleur for himself, hoarding her away from the world. But no, that was too possessive, he thought. They were just friends talking.

They went over to the table, topped off their glasses, and then Fleur, glancing around to see if anyone was watching closely, grabbed an unopened bottle of wine. She drew Harry into a corner with two chairs, set down the bottle of wine and sat, holding out a hand in invitation for Harry to do the same.

"And I'm the confident one," Harry said.

"For all anyone knows this bottle was a gift," Fleur said. She picked up the bottle and examined the label. "It's not a particularly good vintage, either. Nobody's going to hunt us down for this." She sounded almost disappointed.

"I was talking to Dumbledore last night," Harry said. The best way to get her to teach him was to tell Fleur how highly Dumbledore had spoken of her, butter her up first. She was far from immune to flattery.

"And did he say anything interesting?" Fleur asked, her full attention on Harry. Dumbledore's name had that effect on people. A stray thought flashed through Harry's head. He wondered if people would react to his own name like that in the future. The only other real outcome was that Voldemort would kill him. Glory or death and nothing in between.

Harry quashed such thoughts. He had no interest in dwelling on the macabre when he was with Fleur; that would make him bad company. "He spoke highly of you. Said that you were talented and focused."

"The headmaster is a kind man," Fleur said, some indefinable emotion behind her voice; gratitude or appreciation, Harry wasn't sure.

"I asked him whether or not he would teach me, help me to learn to protect myself and my friends." Harry paused, collecting his thoughts before proceeding.

"What did he say?" Fleur asked, urging him on. His pauses only served to draw her in even more.

"He said he couldn't," Harry said, deciding to remain vague. "Actually, he told me that I should ask you. Said that there were few more qualified than you. That for your age you were one of the most talented witches he knew."

Fleur leaned back in her chair, absorbing what Harry had told her. It was, Harry knew, high praise coming from someone as respected as Dumbledore. It also made it harder for her to say no to Harry's request, even if he didn't intend to back her into a corner. Could you really say no to Albus Dumbledore?

The people that were hardest to disappoint were the most respected and none were respected more than Dumbledore.

"Is there so much that I can teach you that you don't already know?" Fleur asked. He could tell that she was pleased by the compliment.

"You know more about charms and transfiguration than I'll probably ever know," Harry said frankly. "And in a fair duel you'll beat me nine times out of ten. I'd say that there are a lot of things that you could teach me that I don't know."

"Dumbledore couldn't help you at all?"

Harry didn't mention the book Dumbledore had given them. He hadn't had a chance to do any more than skim through them but from what he had seen they each dealt with obscure and powerful magic, the sort that one didn't bandy about with impunity. People killed for the sort of knowledge that Harry had locked in his trunk. It was a sign of Dumbledore's trust in him that he was willing to supply him with such dangerous information, Harry thought.

In some ways it was a more powerful compliment than the one Dumbledore paid to Fleur, undiminished by the fact that it went unsaid. Dumbledore trusted Harry and, despite whatever worries Harry had about Dumbledore, he wanted to prove that he was capable of upholding that trust. Not telling other people that he had the books was the absolute minimum required to go about that.

"He didn't give me anything," Harry lied. Fleur nodded, thoughtful, the wine dimming her usually instantaneous reactions. Fleur's first reaction was usually her final reaction but drinking made her slower, more thoughtful, indolent even.

"Then for whatever good it's worth I'll teach you what I know. If I can beat something into your head then I'll certainly be able to do the same for the rest of the Hogwarts students," she said.

"Thank you," Harry said, ignoring the obligatory slight. He could see the pieces clicking into place. Lessons with Fleur to become a better duelist, meetings with Dumbledore to understand his enemy, and studying the books he had been given to ensure he would be able to hold his own. Harry would never be a victim again.

"This does raise a problem though," Fleur said.

"Does it?"

"Your quidditch captainship," Fleur said. "There's no chance that you'll be able to handle being quidditch captain, an assistant to the Dueling Club, and get private lessons from me, all at the same time. It goes without saying that you can't pass up on lessons with me, and my lessons are conditional on you remaining part of the Dueling Club. That means your only option is to drop your captainship."

It wasn't unexpected; Harry had been anticipating giving up his captainship ever since Hermione had mentioned it. Ginny would make an excellent captain. She was bold and focused and her dedication to quidditch bordered on the monomaniacal. As did many of her other interests, Harry noted.

He would hold the tryouts and then tell Ginny that he was stepping down from the team. They would pick the team together and that would be his final contribution.

In a way it was the end of an era. The quidditch team was what had made Harry feel completely at home at Hogwarts; given him a purpose and a standing among the other students that wasn't just from his undeserved position as the Boy-Who-Lived. Any acclaim that he received playing quidditch was down to his own skill and ingenuity. To give that up was to submerge himself fully into the persona of the Boy-Who-Lived, a rejection of the private side of himself. From the moment he gave up the captainship he would be totally devoted to the fight against Voldemort.

"That was always a possibility. Hermione and I talked about it over the summer. I'll be giving the captainship to Ginny after tryouts on Wednesday." Harry felt a little glum saying that but he figured it was for the best. It was time to stop ignoring the responsibilities on his shoulders and instead embrace them. Dumbledore clearly thought he was ready and so ready he would prove himself.

Fleur was looking over to where Ginny was standing, talking to a group of distinguished looking officials. She didn't have any trouble socializing with strangers, Harry saw. The expression on Fleur's face was not a charitable one. Despite her best efforts Fleur had never been able to bring Ginny around to liking her, or even tolerating her.

"Aren't there others, more experienced, who could take over the team?" Fleur asked.

"None who would be as good. Ginny's confident and good under pressure; they're not." It felt strange paying her a compliment given his company but he wasn't going to lie to assuage Fleur's ego or to validate her opinion of Ginny.

"You have the team's best interests at heart, I'm sure," Fleur said, ending that line of thought.

She moved the conversation to something less tense and opened the bottle of wine at her feet. Harry was relieved by the switch and let himself enjoy the ebb and flow of Fleur's conversation.

Every interaction with Fleur was like a fencing competition; any slowness or weakness would quickly be taken advantage of. Not cruelly, but in a sardonic or teasing way, like she was lightly chastising him for his laziness or for being uninteresting. In return he did the same, challenging Fleur in the same way she challenged him. Harry liked to think he gave as good as he got.

As the night went on the other students started to trickle out of the room, eager to get back to their common rooms before curfew. It was one benefit of being friends with a pseudo faculty member, Harry thought. He didn't have to worry about anything as prosaic as curfew when he was with Fleur.

None of the other partygoers attempted to interrupt Harry and Fleur. He supposed that they were a contrast to everyone else. Where most were standing, mingling, and talking in large groups, being pushed like running water from place to place, Harry and Fleur remained static, simply enjoying one another's company without feeling the pressure to extend the fold of their conversation to include others. One good companion was worth a dozen inconsequential ones.

Though Slughorn looked like he wanted to come over and talk to Harry multiple times, he had always either been drawn into conversation by someone else or frightened off by the seeming confidentiality of Harry and Fleur's position. Apparently the man did have some tact after all, Harry thought. Even when he was evidently quite drunk, if Harry was to go off of his increasingly boisterous behavior.

Slughorn rotated groups faster than anyone else; nothing seemed to be able to hold his attention for more than a few minutes. He exploded from one spot to another, bellowing a joke here or an anecdote there, loud enough for the entire room to hear, and then fluttered over to the next group that caught his eye, leaving the last group a bemused mess in his wake.

Ginny remained past the time most students had already gone, cutting curfew close. She never looked in Harry and Fleur's direction but Harry got the impression she was staying to see how long they would talk together.

Harry didn't want to give Ginny the impression that he liked Fleur romantically but he wasn't going to change how he acted just to make her feel better. He wasn't going to live his life in accordance with the whims and capricious desires of a teenage girl; even if her hair was shimmering gently in the light of the dying torches and her eyes were alluringly half-closed, like she was asleep on her feet.

He pushed the thought of Ginny in bed out of his mind.

"You keep looking over at her," Fleur said. She poured the last of the bottle into her glass and looked longingly over at the drinks table. There were a pair of unopened bottles of wine remaining but she looked less confident about taking one given how much the room had emptied out.

"Who's her?" Harry asked, trying to play innocent. Fleur was having none of it and rolled her eyes. "I'm just surprised she stayed this long," he said.

"The jealous female is invariably the most observant female," Fleur droned, as if quoting something. She paused, her eyes flickered to Harry, and then she said, "Do you like her?"

Harry hesitated. It seemed strange confiding his romantic feelings in someone else but he supposed that if he didn't confide in Fleur then there wasn't anyone to confide in. He definitely wasn't going to talk to Hermione or Ron about how he felt. Hermione would overanalyze him and Ron would just be uncomfortable the entire time. It was his sister, after all.

"I might," Harry admitted. He looked over at Ginny, admiring how she smiled at something an elderly man standing across from her said. It was a charming smile, bright and real and even.

Ginny was a larger-than-life figure in a lot of ways; Harry couldn't figure out where the real Ginny ended and the adopted Ginny began. That was interesting in its own way, but a little frightening as well. Fleur was interesting for the opposite reason. Her overwhelming forthrightness was enticing in its own way.

"Can I be frank, Harry?" Fleur asked.

"I'd be offended if you stopped now."

"Ginevra is bold, intelligent, and pretty. She's also manipulative, fake, and callous. You could do better. I don't pretend to know her all that well but I think that I've gotten to know you and together you would be miserable. Once she has you the pleasure of the pursuit will wear off and she'll cease being the charming girl you know. Her true colors will come out, if you can forgive me for being so melodramatic. I'm sure that Ginevra stripped of her desire to please and appeal to you would be far less palatable than what you see and know now."

Nobody could ever accuse Fleur of being unwilling to put her opinion out there. Though she hardly knew Ginny she was comfortable claiming to pierce to the very heart of the girl, to know what she would do months or years in the future.

Harry couldn't decide if Fleur was seeing things that weren't there or was simply such an astute observer that she had seen in weeks what Harry hadn't seen in years.

"I'm not so sure that you're right," Harry said.

"You could do better," Fleur repeated, tripping over her words slightly. Harry wondered if her outspokenness was a result of her personality or the empty bottle at her feet. He was feeling the effects of the wine too but Fleur had two cups for every one of his, and she was smaller than he was.

"Nothing says that Ginny is who I would end up with forever. I haven't even graduated yet. It would just be one harmless date."

Fleur laughed, and it struck Harry as a cruel laugh, mocking him for what she perceived as ignorance or naivety. "You would stop seeing your best friend's sister? The daughter of the people who practically adopted you? Try to imagine how that would strain your relationship with them. Any relationship with Ginny would entail more than you're willing to admit, a level of commitment that I don't think you can even fathom."

"I don't understand why you think you're such a relationship expert, Fleur. You don't know Ginny at all. You two can't stand each other. And what about your own relationship? You gave up your job for your fiancée and then he ran off to Egypt. Have you even seen him in the last month?"

As soon as the words were out of his mouth Harry knew he had gone too far. Fleur's eyes narrowed. The edge she always had sharpened from sarcasm to true anger. "Such a big man. So clever, so righteous. My relationship isn't the problem here. You have no right to attack me when I'm trying to help you. If you want to spend the rest of your life miserable with a woman who fell in love with your shadow rather than your real face then feel free."

She made a move to stand, a little unsteady on her feet, but Harry grabbed her wrist; not roughly, but with a firmness that surprised even him. Fleur looked at him, surprised. Harry was not a physical person in the slightest. It was one of the only times he had ever touched Fleur, he thought.

Her skin was smooth under his hands, fine and pale. Harry was instantly and excruciatingly reminded of her beauty, her natural charm becoming overwhelming when he was so close, her skin pressed against his. The alcohol was fighting wildly against the inhibitions he had built up after so long in her presence. It took all the willpower he could summon not to do or say anything foolish.

"Fleur, I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that," Harry said, trying to master himself and fight down his reaction to being so near her. She didn't seem inclined to forgive him so he went on. "You're trying to help me and I appreciate that, more than you know. I'm not used to this," he said, gesturing at the bottle, "And I don't want you angry with me."

Harry knew, and hated, how vulnerable he sounded. Like a child begging forgiveness of his mother. He ignored his pride and kept up his pleading expression. Fleur would be the type to hold on to grudges far longer than they merited.

Fleur sat down, gracefully, in acceptance of his apology. "Sometimes you very much remind of someone I used to know."

Harry wasn't sure what to say in response to such a sudden shift but he didn't need to. Fleur continued, not looking at him. She spoke with a touch of longing. Her accent became more pronounced when she had been drinking, Harry noticed.

"I met a boy like you one summer when my family was staying in Paris. He was a year older than me; charming, intelligent, and driven, with none of the superficiality and deception that people cloak themselves with these days. He was genuine. A better man than any I had known before. Once he had decided on a course of action he deemed right he was unyielding.

"I loved him, of course. My first love. But I was blinded by love. He didn't love me at all; couldn't love me. In some ways you remind me of him so much. You both have that fire, an unwavering righteousness. I thought that we would run off together, get married, and live happily. That didn't happen, of course."

"I'm sorry," Harry said, for want of anything else to say. There was too much to her story left unsaid, feelings and memories that she wasn't willing to drudge to the surface. It seemed that the less he intruded on her story the better. Fleur wasn't speaking for him so much as for herself. Her eyes had a far-off look.

"In some ways, you were right. I haven't seen Bill in a month. He's…single-minded. This expedition is important to him. I suppose he's not very much like my first love. His priorities are different. He's different. Maybe that's exactly why I love him so much."

By the end Fleur sounded melancholy, completely at odds with her normal self. There was an ambiguity to her ending, a space where the words and her intended meaning didn't match, like she wanted to sound enthusiastic but couldn't bring herself to take the final step and _mean_ it.

"Love is strange, maybe even incomprehensible," Harry said. He fumbled over the words, meandering into uncharted territory. Who was he to tell Fleur about love? He was a teenage boy whose experience with love included, and ended with, once kissing a crying girl.

Fleur seemed to regain some of her poise, mustering enough presence of mind to mock Harry. "You would make an awful philosopher; the type that writes books with nothing but rehashed clichés and purposefully ambiguous arguments. Vagueness isn't as attractive a trait as you might think."

"Excuse me for trying to help," Harry said, faux hurt. Sarcasm was comfortable ground. He could work with that.

She gifted him with a small smile, as genuine as he had ever seen from her. "You have helped, Harry. More than you know. I enjoy your company, and our conversations. They're a consolation to me in a strange place, surrounded by people I don't know. Your friendship has become very important to me. When you asked me for help there was never any chance of me saying no."

Genuineness and emotional vulnerability were a new side to Fleur, and one Harry wasn't entirely sure how to deal with, but he decided to respond in kind. "I like being with you too. It's…nice," Harry finished lamely.

Fleur laughed, which turned into a series of hiccups. She clapped one hand over her reddened face. "Promise me you'll always be such a sap," she said.

"I promise, Fleur," Harry said, make vague motions over his chest with mock solemnity.

She smiled through bleary eyes and said, "I'm going to regret all of this in the morning, aren't I? I've had too much to drink."

"You shouldn't ever regret opening up to me," Harry said, trying to get across his sincerity. "Someone has to be your confidant; you can't go it alone. It might as well be me."

"Of all the wizards in Britain I get stuck with you."

"A shame, I know. Anyway, we should probably go. The party is winding down and I'm not really in the mood anymore."

"No, neither am I."

Harry stood and offered her a hand, pulling her to her feet and giving her an awkward pat on the back that he meant to be comforting. She laughed at him a little, which he took to be a good thing, and Harry led them out of the room before Slughorn could move to intercept them. Harry doubted that the man would be happy that he had escaped before getting a chance to talk to him but Slughorn was low on Harry's list of priorities. He had a lot of leeway in dealing with the man and he was going to take full advantage of it.

"Take me back to my room," Fleur commanded.

She was struggling to walk in a straight line and he had to let her lean on him to make sure she didn't fall. He was hyperaware of her presence, her dress cool but her skin overheated.

It was after curfew and Harry hoped that they wouldn't run into Filch. He suspected that their current position didn't look as innocent as it actually was.

"We're friends, aren't we, Harry?" Fleur mumbled.

"Of course," he said, focusing more on making sure she didn't fall than what she was saying.

"That's good. I had friends at Beauxbatons but I'm not that close to them anymore. It's nice to have someone to talk to."

"You can talk to me anytime," Harry assured her.

"That's nice," she said, drifting off into thoughts of her own and leaning more heavily against him.

When they got back to Fleur's rooms Harry led her into her room and she sat down on the bed. She looked at Harry, blearily, as if she didn't really see him, and started changing out of her clothes.

Her shoes came off first, deep blue slippers that matched her dress, and Harry didn't fully process what she was doing. Then she reached for the straps of her dress on her shoulder, stood up, and shimmied out of the dress, standing in front of Harry in nothing but her bra and panties (which were also a nice shade of blue, a recess of Harry's mind observed).

All of the reactions that Harry had been holding in over the course of the night came bursting past his defenses in a moment. He was spellbound, unable to look away, not able to hide his appreciating gaze in the slightest.

Harry couldn't help but admire her body. He wasn't unfamiliar with the female body thanks to the magazines that Dudley left laying around his room, but Fleur's trumped any that he had seen before.

The only way to describe it was flawless. There wasn't a part of her that wasn't smooth and perfectly proportioned. Her hair, almost luminous, flowed down her front and back, touching just the tips of her breasts, which were heaving slightly as she breathed heavily. Against his will Harry could feel a stirring of lust; the carefully drawn line that said that Fleur was a friend began to waver in the face of her beauty.

She was the most beautiful thing Harry had ever seen; effortlessly and simultaneously elegant and sexy.

She sat back down on the bed and looked back up at him, then back down at her state of undress. Her laugh came out strange, as if she had a swollen tongue that distorted her voice. "Sorry, Harry. I wasn't thinking. I guess you got something out of walking me back to my room."

"I don't expect anything from you, Fleur. We're friends," Harry said. Those were his words, but his mind was filled with images.

The two of them, together, on the bed, touching and kissing, a passion that was beyond anything that he had had with Cho. What were friendship and propriety? Just words. There was nothing to stop the two of them. He was drunk, she was drunk, it would be a one time mistake. Only they would know.

Harry felt like he wasn't in control of his body. Any moment he was going to reach out and touch her, let her feel a fraction of what he was feeling. Some part of him knew that he was drunk, that _she_ was drunk, that anything he did would be a mistake, but he was beyond caring.

Seemingly unaware of what was going on in his head, Fleur broke his trance. She casually slid under the covers on her bed and said, "Goodnight, Harry," turning her head away from him on the pillow.

Under the covers she seemed less a seductress than a lonely young woman who had willing spent the night talking with him, sharing stories with him, keeping him safe from the clutches of the social bloodhounds that prowled Slughorn's parties.

Harry felt shame at the temptation he had felt, had almost given into, and wondered if he was as good a friend as he had always thought himself to be. The idea of taking advantage of Fleur, when she was drunk and emotional and engaged, was abhorrent to him. All the lust he had been feeling vanished because of his overwhelming embarrassment.

"Goodnight, Fleur," Harry said. He left her suite, pulling the door shut behind him, and made his way back to his own bed, hoping the walk would scrub the lust he was still feeling from his body.

His shame faded faster than he had thought it would. The image of Fleur clad only in her underwear burned itself indelibly in his mind. His feelings, his lust, put a new face on their relationship; were disastrous even, but, despite that, Harry found himself whistling quietly on his walk back.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter V**

There was nothing like the agony of a hangover. Harry felt like he was going to vomit at any moment. His head throbbed almost as badly as it did when Voldemort was angry and his throat was an arid desert, but the thought of drinking water made him even more nauseous.

Harry swore that he would never drink so much again in his life. If he felt this bad after a night of drinking he wondered what Fleur must be feeling like. She had more than matched him glass for glass and was practically half his size.

When Ron had left for class he had promised that he would tell the professors that Harry was feeling ill and couldn't get out of bed. Fortunately they didn't have Snape's class on Mondays. Harry didn't expect any sympathy for illness from that quarter.

The first few hours after he woke up he had just lain in bed, drifting in and out of sleep, wishing desperately that he was feeling better and that time would pass faster than the slow crawl it had become. The thought of drinking ever again made him want to heave. As the morning turned to afternoon he felt well enough to get a small drink of water from the bathroom sink and sit up in bed.

Since the rest of his roommates were at class Harry decided to take a closer look at the books that Dumbledore had given him. He was better able to think through the splitting headache and the nausea had subsided somewhat. Every few minutes Harry got up for another small drink of water, hoping that he wouldn't upset his stomach too much. He had to treat his body gingerly, as if the slightest misstep would end with him hurling whatever was left in his stomach into the toilet.

The books that Dumbledore had given him were each part of a series, handwritten, and they looked old enough that Harry worried they were going to fall apart in his hands. The pages were yellowing and the ink had faded somewhat. Trying to read made Harry's headache resurface with a vengeance.

They looked to be more notebooks than textbooks. The cramped handwriting filled page after page of lined paper, with the occasional diagram and illustration to illustrate a particularly complicated point. Harry wasn't feeling well enough to do more than skim the books but, from what he could understand, there was no single topic that the books focused on.

There were theoretical musings on spells that Harry had never heard of, instructions for tuning one's senses to be able to sense magic, spells for combat and defense, transfiguration theories that Harry couldn't even hope to understand, and, every now and then, a more personal musing about possible places to visit and spells to learn once the author graduated Hogwarts.

Despite the lack of identifying marks on the notebooks, Harry had a suspicion that he knew who the author was. The age of the notebooks, the complexity of the spells and thoughts within them; there was only one student that Harry could think of who was so advanced when he was at Hogwarts.

Dumbledore had given Harry his personal notebooks. It was, without a doubt, the most personal that Dumbledore had ever gotten with him. Harry had been given a glimpse into the inner mind of the greatest wizard of the century.

Granted, there weren't all that many personal musings in the notebooks. They were definitely more experimental notebooks than diaries. But it remained an enormous show of trust on Dumbledore's part.

It wouldn't be easy to parse through the notebooks. They were written for a wizard at a level far beyond his own, but he was confident that given enough time and effort he would be able to make use of them. Dumbledore certainly thought so, or he wouldn't have bothered giving them to him.

A sense of excitement filled Harry, distracting him from the symptoms of his hangover, making him want to start reading through the notebooks immediately. Each was about five hundred pages, which, combined with the complexity of the subject matter, made it a daunting prospect.

He tried to start reading, his excitement overcoming his caution, but he wasn't able to make it past the second page before the throbbing in his head made him admit defeat. The mind of Albus Dumbledore couldn't be cracked by a hungover teenager on a whim. It would take time, dedication, and research.

Rather than studying the books Harry contented himself with flipping through them, skimming for anything that caught his eye. Several passages, especially in the last notebook, demanded his attention. They were instructions for spells and, while Harry couldn't understand the instructions, he knew that he had seen the spells before.

Judging from the descriptions in the book, a number of the spells that Dumbledore had used against Voldemort in the Ministry atrium were written down in front of Harry. There was the animation charm that Dumbledore had used on the statues, the spell for mass water manipulation, and the fire whip that had particularly caught Harry's eye.

There were other spells as well, dozens of them, but Harry suspected that he would have to pick and choose from them. They were each at a level of complexity that would make learning the spells as difficult an endeavor as learning the Patronus Charm had been.

Harry could see his free time shrinking before his eyes. He sighed and reached for his wand to check the time. It had been Harry's hope that he would have recovered by the time the Dueling Club came around. He still had a few hours before he was supposed to meet Fleur to set up. He figured that he could get an early dinner to help recover his strength before he had to start teaching.

Looking through the books, interesting as they were, wasn't enough to entirely distract Harry from his thoughts about the previous night. He and Fleur had gotten along well. Very well. In fact, he didn't think he could remember ever enjoying time spent with others as much as he had with Fleur.

They could trade barbs and then switch with ease to discussing something of actual importance. They traded stories about growing up, about their time at school (sometimes Fleur even seemed to forget that Harry was still in school, which left him secretly pleased), and about what they had been studying recently.

Harry had promised Dumbledore that he wouldn't share the notebooks with anyone but he had no doubt that Fleur would be jealous. It was some of the most potent knowledge ever collected in one place, a superior version of Ron's potions book. The more time Harry spent with the notebooks the more he realized how serious Dumbledore had been when he said that the Death Eaters would kill to get their hands on it.

Still, even if Harry couldn't show Fleur the book or teach her the spells, he could still impress her with them. They could be his trump card when they practiced dueling with each other. No doubt she was still more skilled than him but if he could learn the spells Harry would have a way to level the playing field.

None of that was what Harry found himself unable to forget. They were only tangents, designed to distract him in the same way that the notebooks were.

Fleur undressing in front of him played in Harry's mind on repeat, the memory crystal clear. He doubted that he would ever forget it. It was filthy to think about a friend of his, who was engaged no less, in such a sexual way, but Harry couldn't help himself. The memory flashed in front of his eyes without his consent.

It wasn't as if it was an unpleasant memory. Though Harry felt guilty, a part of him was thrilled about every detail; the lines of her body, the tilt of her lips, the curve of her breasts. It was enough to exacerbate his headache even more.

She hadn't seemed bothered by him watching her in the moment but she had been drunk. Perhaps she was feeling some of the same shame that he was, but worse, because while he hadn't looked away it had been her choice to undress in front of him.

Would getting ready for the Dueling Club together be awkward? A step back in their friendship? Nothing would be worth that, in Harry's mind. She may have been the most beautiful woman Harry had ever seen, with a perfect body and angelic face, but that didn't mean it was worth it. Definitely not.

After all, beauty was transitory, Harry told himself. He wasn't shallow like that. Not at all. Fleur was more than just a pretty face. Well, a very, very, pretty face, he amended.

There was nothing to be done but wait and see. Fleur was a confident woman. If she felt embarrassed there was a good chance that she wouldn't even show it.

Harry spent the next hour in bed, reading through a quidditch magazine he had borrowed from Ron, and eating some small meat pies that he nicked from Ron's stash. It wasn't productive but he started to feel better and the swelling that thoughts of Fleur had induced went down. The boneheaded commentary in quidditch magazines was always good for clearing his head.

Ron returned to the room a few minutes later, flopping down on his bed and letting loose a soft sigh. He turned his head toward Harry and his eyes widened comically.

"Are you eating the food my mum sent me?"

Through a mouthful of pie, Harry said, "No?"

"Unbelievable. You get pissed, come back late at night, wake everyone up with your banging about, skive off classes, and then, to top it off, you eat my food. Face it. You've become a delinquent, Harry." Ron shook his head sadly at his fallen friend.

"Don't tell Hermione. She'd kill me."

"No doubt about that. Feeling better?"

"Loads better. I need to help Fleur set up for the first Dueling Club meeting tonight. You and Hermione are coming right?"

"Wouldn't miss it. Word is that half the school is going to be there."

"Lovely," Harry said. He didn't have stage fright but standing in front of hundreds of his peers would be nerve wracking no matter the circumstances. Teaching them even more so. "I need to get something to eat."

"I thought you already had," Ron said, pointing to the crumbs of his meat pie all over Harry's bed.

"You want to come?" Harry asked, ignoring him.

"I guess I don't have a choice now that you've eaten everything I had."

"I just thought that my best friend wouldn't mind helping me out in my time of need."

"You're a mooch, Harry. I'll go grab Hermione."

Harry got out of bed, dressed only in a pair of boxers and an undershirt. He put on a more appropriate outfit and went down to the common room. Hermione and Ron were waiting for him by the fire.

"You look like death," Hermione said.

"Thanks, Hermione."

"Ron said you were bumbling about like a fool last night."

"Also true. Anything else you want to criticize me for?"

Hermione looked thoughtful, pausing, before she said, "Next time you're hungover don't expect us to cover for you. This was a onetime thing."

"Trust me, I don't ever want to get that drunk again either."

And then there was nothing between them anymore. Short of serious arguments, there was little that could split the three of them apart. They were too comfortable around each other, too aware of each other's moods, for small differences to have any real effect. Hermione got her lecture out, was satisfied, and then they could move on.

"Dinner?" Ron asked.

They were early enough to the Great Hall that most of the food wasn't out yet. There were a variety of sandwiches for students feeling peckish, some fruit and vegetables, and bread with butter, but the elaborate spread that Harry had come to expect from Hogwarts meals wasn't prepared.

Harry munched on whatever he thought would upset his stomach the least. Hermione ate little. Ron helped himself to some sandwiches, ignoring the fruit that Hermione piled on his plate.

"Is Fleur going to be able to teach?" Hermione asked. "Last I checked she was drinking as much as you were."

She actually had more to drink but Harry didn't correct Hermione. Instead, he said, "She'll be fine." He wasn't sure that he was telling the truth but he had to have faith that Fleur would be able to take care of herself. No doubt Dumbledore would be unimpressed if Fleur was too hungover to teach on her first day.

Harry ate as fast as he dared, wanting to get to the Dueling Club without further delay. He felt that he needed to make sure that things weren't going to be awkward between them. He was committed to acting as if nothing had happened. If Fleur did the same then they were golden.

"Time to go," Harry said, finishing the last bite of his sandwich. It stuck in his stomach like a lead ball along with Ron's meat pies.

A number of the students that Harry passed in the hall stopped him to talk about the Dueling Club, assuring him that they were going to come or wanting to know what was being planned.

Some seemed interested more in Fleur than in the club itself. Mainly the upperclassmen. Unwilling to give them any encouragement Harry just said that Fleur was an excellent teacher and they would be sure to learn a lot when they came. The idea of Fleur getting together with any of the students at Hogwarts was laughable. She was a grown woman with a fiancé. She wasn't going to be spending her time with children.

Contrary to what he had expected, Fleur was up and about when he came to the Dueling Club hall. She was moving about without any trouble, her face clear of any discomfort. The nausea and weakness that Harry was still feeling didn't seem to be afflicting her.

She had put a small stage against the back of the room and separated the room into three distinct sections. Each section had a pile of the instruction manual, a set of dummies, and a few dueling mats. On one table there was a steaming cauldron with two cups beside it, one half-filled with a strange and foul looking concoction.

"I had thought you would be half-dead right now," Harry said by way of a greeting.

Fleur looked up from moving a dummy and said, "I haven't subjected myself to a hangover in years. Pour yourself a glass from the cauldron and drink it. It smells, and tastes, foul, but it'll make you feel better."

Harry did as she said, watching her all the while. She wasn't looking at him while she worked, seemingly content to let him handle himself while she finished setting up the room how she wanted it.

The potion tasted as disgusting as Harry had imagined, like someone had tried to add seasoning to boiled sewage. As soon as he downed the concoction the last vestiges of his hangover washed away, leaving him feeling refreshed and energetic. He hadn't realized how much he had still been feeling the symptoms until they were gone.

"Thanks. Not sure how much help I would've been like that."

"You shouldn't have to thank me. I'm the one who convinced you to drink with me in the first place. I should be apologizing to you," Fleur said. She stopped working on the room and came over to the table Harry was standing next to, leaning one hip casually against it.

Fleur was wearing a typical duelist's robe, though Harry thought that she wore it better than the average duelist. It didn't conceal as much as accentuate her form, contoured to every cut and dash of her body. Tailored, no doubt.

When Harry looked at her he almost didn't see her in her robe but how he had the night before, shorn of her dress, almost completely bare in her bedroom. It was all he could do to hold down a blush. Fleur didn't seem to realize what he was thinking. Looking at her, Harry wasn't even sure that she remembered what had happened the night before.

"The best apology would have been to let me know about this potion this morning."

"It's a rite of passage to be violently hungover your first time after drinking heavily. What kind of teacher would I be if I had given you this potion right away?" Fleur asked.

"A kind one."

She scoffed, as if the very idea was absurd. "I'm not going to coddle you, Harry. You don't need it and I don't want to waste my time. If you can't handle a little hangover then there's no way you'll be able to handle training with me."

"Are you…trying to intimidate me?" Harry asked, somewhat bemused.

"No. I'm just warning you that I'm going to show you the difference between a talented duelist and a little boy." She raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to disagree.

"Actions speak louder than words, Fleur. We'll see what you're made of," Harry said, his tone making it sound like he already knew what he would find and that he wasn't particularly impressed.

She wouldn't let that challenge go, Harry knew, but he wasn't going to let her verbally _and_ physically abuse him. Even if there was little chance that he could beat her in a fair duel he wasn't going to sound like a frightened child going into it.

Fleur looked more pleased than offended by his response, her expression transitioning into something predatory, and Harry had to restrain the involuntary shiver that ran down his back. For a brief moment he regretted saying anything at all.

The look passed and Fleur ran through the expectations she had for the first meeting. They would get everyone to sign in for a rough headcount, explain the point of the club, break them into groups and try to begin teaching every group one spell. She would be in charge of the two older and more advanced groups and Harry would be helping the younger students.

Personally, Harry thought that Fleur was taking too much on herself trying to teach both older groups. There could be over a hundred people when they were combined. Nobody could adequately teach that many people. Dumbledore clearly hadn't expected how many students would be interested (or forced to go) when he had hired Fleur.

"How are we breaking them into groups?" Harry asked. It would be hard to get a feel for how talented each individual student was with so many planning on showing up.

"Third years and below will be in the first group, your group. The other two will be broken off into groups based on whether or not they can cast a stunner and shield themselves, the basics of any duelist."

"I doubt many students will be able to do both," Harry said.

"Then we'll have a small group," Fleur said, seeming unbothered by the prospect.

"We had a less than quality teacher last year so the sixth and seventh year students will be able to cast both but I doubt any of the others will," Harry explained. "They'll basically be grouped by age no matter what our requirements are."

Fleur tapped her finger on her chin speculatively. "Then perhaps we should just break them into three age groups then rather than base it on talent. I had no idea the Hogwarts curriculum was so far behind."

Harry ignored the slight against his school. "Age groups sound like a good idea."

"Then that's what we'll do," Fleur said. "You'll teach the children the Disarming Spell and I'll work with the other two groups on some more advanced work. Start with the dummies and then, if we have time, pair them off on the dueling mats."

Harry couldn't say that he was looking forward to working with his students all that much. He had been hoping for something like the DA, a group of students not segregated by age or talent. Trying to get through to a bunch of kids was a completely different task. He was about to be half-babysitter and half-teacher, Harry thought. Fleur had kept the more interesting job for herself.

The students started streaming in about thirty minutes before the first meeting was officially slated to start. They gathered in little cliques, talking to one another and occasionally glancing up at Harry and Fleur who were standing on the small stage, waiting to address the full assembly of students when it was time.

Most of the early arrivals were the younger students. They looked around with an air of incredulousness, as if the Dueling Club was some secret gathering that only older students should be able to attend. A couple of third year boys didn't seem able to take their eyes off of Fleur. She stared impassively into the crowd, her eyes not resting on anyone in particular.

The crowd reached its maximum size on the stroke of the hour. Harry glanced over at Fleur and she nodded.

Fleur strode out to the edge of the stage and said, "The art of dueling is both noble and ancient; it has roots stretching back as far as recorded history itself and has evolved into the varied and remarkable field that it is today. In ordinary times, dueling is a sport, existing for entertainment and excitement. These are not ordinary times. The Dark Lord has returned and the British Isles are once more plunged into a civil war that threatens to tear apart the very fabric of your society.

"Neutrality will not protect you. The only protection you have in today's world is yourself. And that's why you're here today. You're here because you realized the danger that stalks you, that waits in the dark, and you were proactive enough to decide to learn how to fight back against the monsters that would destroy you. Harry and I are here to show you how to fight and, more importantly, how to survive. If you let it, this war will take everything from you. Don't let it."

Silence greeted Fleur's words. Perhaps it was because she was an outsider, and had an outsider's perspective, but none in the crowd looked like they had ever considered it the way she had. Dumbledore had assured them that they were safe in Hogwarts. The ministry assured them that it was strong. The Daily Prophet ran patriotic stories that made Voldemort seem weak and scattered and the aurors out to be avenging angels; unstoppable and proud.

None seemed to have seriously thought that they were at risk. Society had coddled them and Fleur was trying to rip away the blinds placed before their eyes. Even the older students seemed shaken by her words. The prospect of death seemed to lurk over the crowd. Students looked around, a touch panicked, as if Death Eaters were waiting for them in the shadows.

Once she deemed that she had waited an appropriate amount of time for her message to sink in, Fleur continued. "In your classes you will be given the raw material to protect yourselves. Here we will shape that material into weapons. You will be broken into three groups. First through third years will study with Harry. The rest of you will be with me, split into two groups; fourth and fifth years in one, sixth and seventh in the other. Are there any questions?"

For a few seconds the crowd was silent and Harry didn't think there would be any. Then someone, a fifth year Ravenclaw that Harry didn't know personally, said, "Why are you in charge of the Dueling Club? You came in last in the Triwizard Tournament. Harry did better than you and he was only fourteen. Why isn't he in charge of teaching us?" There was a slight rumble of assent from the crowd. They looked to Harry as if he would suddenly pull out his wand, curse Fleur, and usurp control.

Fleur looked at a loss for how to respond. The student, wittingly or unwittingly, had touched on a sore subject. Harry saw that she didn't have a response ready so he stepped forward.

Making sure the crowd's eyes were focused on him, Harry said, "I've spent weeks with Fleur, preparing for this club. In that time, she's demonstrated that not only does she know more about transfiguration than I do, not only does she know more charms, not only does she know more theoretical magic, and not only can she trounce me in a duel, but she also has a natural talent for teaching, beyond even that of some of the teachers here at Hogwarts. I'm sure we all know who I'm talking about."

Harry let the laughter die out before he went on. "Fleur is in charge of this Dueling Club because she's one of the most knowledgeable and talented witches you'll ever have the good fortune to meet. We should all be grateful that she was willing to come to teach us how to protect ourselves."

Though overblown, Harry's rhetorical flourish had its intended effect. The student who had spoken seemed cowed and the crowd looked reassured. A few of the older students stared at Fleur in a more measuring way, as if assessing her with that new information in mind. The younger students looked even more awestruck than they had before. Harry didn't remember being that easily impressed but, then again, he had never been taught by a gorgeous, kickass, French woman.

At the back of the crowd Harry could see Ron and Hermione. Ron gave him a thumbs up and Hermione smiled supportively.

"If there aren't any more questions you will break up into three groups now," Fleur said, her voice frosty, like she was personally affronted at having her credentials questioned. It was more a means of taking back control of the crowd than any actual affront, Harry knew. If anything, Fleur would be upset with how easily she had let herself be shaken.

"First through third years with me," Harry shouted, pulling a sizable chunk from the crowd as he went over to the part of the room that Fleur had set aside for them. He estimated that there were over a hundred students in the hall. Less than Ron had been suggesting but still far more than he had been expecting.

The younger students were a minority. Despite being a group with three years in it, rather than two, there were only around thirty students who were third years or below. Most were Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, with a few Ravenclaws and even the occasional Slytherin dotting the crowd.

Harry passed around the signup sheet for the club along with the instruction manuals that Fleur had told him to pass out to all of the students.

"You're all at a disadvantage," Harry said, getting their attention. They seemed even more receptive to what he had to say than the DA members had been. Harry supposed that they hadn't had as much time as the older students had to get used to him. They only really knew him through the exaggerated stories as a heroic figure that swooped in at the last second to save the day. Hero-worship could be useful sometimes, he supposed.

"All of the older students have strategies and spells to draw on to defend themselves. You don't. You lack the training and the knowledge with which to defend yourselves. That's why we're going to start from the very beginning. I want you all to gather in groups in front of these dummies. We're going to learn the Disarming Spell today. It's versatile, potent, and easier to cast than plenty of other, less useful, spells. To be honest with you, it's probably my favorite spell."

One of the third years raised her hand. "I already know the Disarming Spell," she said.

"Then you can practice it and help others who don't know it. When you're out there, trying to protect yourself and your friends, you're only as strong as your weakest ally. A fight is not winner take all. Victory has its price, and the only way to knock that price down is to help your friends. Look around you. These are not people you're competing with. These are the people who will determine whether or not you survive if the Death Eaters attack. You need to trust them and want them to be the very best that they can be. That means helping them when you know more and accepting help when you know less."

It was the same ethos that the DA had been working with but stated out loud for them all to hear. Their childish faces tightened, like they were preparing themselves for battle, and Harry had to stifle a laugh. It was good that they understood the importance of the club and learning to protect themselves. Laughing at how ridiculous they looked would completely undermine them.

Still, they did look ridiculous.

The underclassmen broke into groups, mostly along house lines, and Harry paced in front of them, demonstrating the incantation and wand movement. He had them repeat the incantation along with him and make the movements with him. After correcting a few sloppy wand movements Harry stood to the side and let them start practicing on the dummies.

Most weren't successful but that wasn't at all surprising. Harry was pleased to see a few of the third years that had said they already knew the spell demonstrating how to cast it to those who were struggling. Harry stepped in when someone looked like they were close to getting it, or falling behind their peers, but most of time he tried to be a quiet presence among them, encouraging and approachable, willing to answer any questions they had.

Fleur was drilling the fourth and fifth years on the Shield Charm and the oldest students on the Stunning Spell. A number of the former had the charm down and almost all of the oldest students had already learned the stunner. They weren't complaining at having to relearn or practice old spells, seemingly content to trust Fleur's judgement. Harry tried to catch Fleur's eye but she was so intent on helping a few of the students struggling with the Shield Charm that she didn't see him.

Neville looked to be particularly successful in helping a few of the other students learn the Stunning Spell. It was one of the first spells that the DA had practiced and Neville could do it in his sleep. He seemed calmer than usual, and more confident. The usual mocking amusement that other students looked at Neville with was gone from their eyes as he helped them learn the spell. At some point, when nobody had been paying attention, Neville had surpassed them. And they knew it.

Harry hadn't spent much time with Neville since the year had started but he was starting to regret that. It seemed like the boy had changed, and very much for the better. Harry had been busy but that was no excuse to ignore his friends, especially after what they had gone through together.

After a few cycles of students trying to cast the spell they were having some success. Whoops of delight were not uncommon as the first and second years cast the Disarming Spell for the first time. The arms of the dummy would get blasted back by the spell and then slowly, with a low grinding sound, return to place. Confidence was high in the group.

There were a few students who were still struggling but Harry was satisfied overall. He hadn't been expecting all of them to learn the spell in an hour. More had done it than he had anticipated. The third years who already knew the spell were being more helpful than he could have ever hoped.

"Do you know what we'll be doing next time?" asked one of the first years, a girl with an eye-catching gap between her front teeth which gave her voice a faint whistling quality. The others around her stopped to listen as well.

"My plan is for us to finish working on the Disarming Spell and then start the Unlocking Charm and the Summoning Charm. They don't really have dueling applications like the Disarming Spell but they're useful spells that have saved my skin more than once," Harry said.

"Like with the dragon," one of the third years said, his voice filled with a reverent awe.

"Like with the dragon," Harry confirmed.

The first and second years didn't understand what they were referring to, having not been at Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament, and Harry didn't feel inclined to enlighten them. They all seemed satisfied by what Harry was proposing regardless.

Looking at the clock, Harry saw that they had about fifteen minutes left. "Can I get two volunteers?" Harry asked.

Tentatively, two third year girls raised their hands. Both Gryffindors, Harry noted.

"What are your names?" Harry asked.

"Elizabeth."

"Ainsley."

Harry nodded. "The two of you will be our guinea pigs for today. We're going to move over to the dueling mats now and you two are going to duel for the class. At the end of the duel I'll tell you what you did well, what you need to work on, and make some suggestions about how to improve your form."

Ainsley looked determined, her hand tightening around her wand, but Elizabeth seemed skittish at the prospect of performing in front of her peers.

"There's nothing to worry about," Harry said, trying to encourage her. "This is just a demonstration."

She didn't look all that reassured but, despite that, the two took up opposite positions on the dueling mat. Harry showed them the proper dueling stance and instructed them to bow to each other. "First to lose their wand or leave the dueling mat loses," he said. Then he counted down.

When Harry and Fleur had dueled the air had burned with magic, seething and roiling in an almost vicious way. Elizabeth and Ainsley were about the opposite of that. They got a spell off, waited to see if it would hit, the other person dodged out of the way, and then whoever reacted first would send another spell. In a real duel they would have been taken down in seconds.

They didn't seem to realize how poorly they were doing. Both of them became more confident as the duel went on, treating it like a game, a smile appearing when they came particularly close to hitting the other person. It was the opposite of the attitude that Harry was trying to cultivate. He didn't want people to hate the Dueling Club but it wasn't a place to put forth anything less than one's best effort. Their duel was more a demonstration of their spell repertoire than an attempt to defeat each other. He shuddered to think of how poorly the younger students would have done.

Ainsley ended up winning the 'duel.' Elizabeth had reacted too slowly to a Disarming Spell and her wand flew into the crowd. A well-intentioned first year returned it to her. To her credit, Elizabeth was holding up well after losing in front of so many people. She returned to the crowd with her head held high. Ainsley looked delighted and turned to Harry, like she was waiting for approval. It reminded Harry of a younger Hermione and he smiled indulgently.

"That wasn't bad," Harry said, choosing his tone and words carefully, not wanting to discourage them. "I see a lot of potential. Next time, instead of learning new spells, I think we'll work on some dueling strategy. You've got to have the foundations down before you can apply them. Both of you cast well; your spellwork itself was flawless. It's the pace that we're going to have to work on. You can't give your opponent a chance to defend themselves. You have to be unrelenting."

Elizabeth took the praise and criticism well. Ainsley seemed disappointed at Harry's criticism but returned to her place with the other students.

Fleur's two groups were breaking up, having been dismissed by Fleur for the day. She was walking over to Harry's group and looked satisfied with herself. From what little Harry had seen of the older students they were picking up the spells easily enough and, more importantly, obeying Fleur. She couldn't teach if she didn't have respect.

A few of the more uncouth students had been staring at her but even that had been kept to a minimum. Respect and fear was the best cocktail to combat lust.

"You can let them go now," Fleur said, coming to stand next to Harry.

"Actually, I think it would be helpful if we demonstrated a real duel to them."

"You want to get tossed around in front of all your students?"

"Sounds like fun to me."

The students watched their back-and-forth like a tennis match they were terrified to miss; even blinking might cause them to lose sight of an essential rebuttal.

"Let's show them then," Fleur said.

They took up the standard positions on the dueling mat. Harry could see Ron and Hermione lurking near the doorway, watching them with great interest. Some of the older students were clearing out but even more were watching Harry and Fleur. A circle, made up of curious students, formed around the dueling mat.

"Good luck," Fleur said, bowing to him.

Harry made the first move, aiming his wand with the utmost efficiency of motion. " _Confringo_."

A speedy explosive bolt lashed out at Fleur but she deflected it toward the ceiling where it imploded with a room shaking fury.

In response Fleur sent a flurry of minor jinxes and hexes at Harry. He recognized the Jelly-Legs Curse, the Disarming Spell, the Dancing Feet Spell, and the Knee-Reversal Hex, along with a few more obscure ones. They were simple enough that she didn't need to bother with incantations or wand movements, hoping to overwhelm Harry through volume alone.

" _Protego_ ," Harry said, using the Shield Charm with an ease born of endless practice. The shield flickered a dull blue with every impact. It was a simple solution for a simple problem. Even some of the third years could have dealt with what Fleur was throwing at him.

Fleur quickly ended the barrage, realizing that it was having no effect whatsoever. Harry dropped the shield and moved into the wand movements for his next spell, wordlessly sending a surging, rotating ball that blurred along the edges, like it was distorting the space around it, toward Fleur.

With one eyebrow raised Fleur conjured a boxy shield around herself, protecting her from all angles. The ball careened into the shield and, for a moment, nothing happened. Then there was a flash of light, a sudden rush of displaced air, and a sound like frantic thunder.

The ball exploded next to Fleur, nearly obliterating her shield. It was one of the most powerful spells that Harry had learned and it wasn't even enough to get through Fleur's defenses.

Harry was impressed that Fleur was standing strong. If that didn't bring her down he wasn't sure that he could. Her spellwork was too efficient to poke a hole through and as soon as she built up any momentum she would be unbeatable.

He had the feeling that she had been going easy on him, staying on the defensive, so as not to damage his reputation in front of all the students watching. It was simultaneously insulting and thoughtful.

In an effort to keep Fleur on the defensive he chained a long string of spells together, mixing the strong in with the weak. Stunners flew alongside Tickling Charms, Stinging Hexes alongside Disarming Spells. There were so many moving together that they almost had the appearance of a flying rainbow.

Harry hoped that she would be unwilling to gamble and would treat each spell as equally dangerous.

She didn't. With unerring precision Fleur batted away the minor jinxes, shielded against the curses, and dodged the more obscure spells that Harry sent her way.

Most opponents Harry faced had go-to spells and strategies; once you figured that out you could beat them by predicting their next move. Fleur didn't have one go-to spell or strategy. She had dozens.

Her ability to improvise was far beyond anyone Harry had ever dueled before. Every strategy she used was powerful and flexible, leading right into her next one. It was like she choreographed her duels and her opponent couldn't help but follow along, like a puppet on strings.

The only way to beat Fleur was through overwhelming skill or power and Harry was sure he didn't yet have enough of either to beat her.

A slight opening gave Fleur all the time she needed to flash her wand outward, a movement so quick and subtle that Harry almost missed it, sending a nearly invisible concussive force straight at Harry.

It was brute force incarnate and it trucked into Harry mercilessly.

The Shield Charm that Harry threw up was nothing in the face of the spell. It took the initial brunt of the force away but what remained was more than enough to rip him off his feet and send him tumbling to the edge of the mat, feeling like he had just had the stuffing beat out of him by an overgrown Crabbe and Goyle.

Fleur was sauntering toward him, having apparently decided that she had let things go on for the sake of his reputation for long enough. Harry stayed down for the moment, letting her think he was beaten, while his thoughts turned over in a mad rush to find a solution, a path to victory.

One last spell came to mind. One he had read in Dumbledore's notebooks but not yet even attempted.

Pushing himself to his feet, Harry pointed his wand and said, " _Praefortis_."

He concentrated on recalling all of the times in his life when he had been victorious, come out on top of his opponents, survived when he had been left for dead.

Every memory built in his head, gathering strength, and then they were released in one hellish bar of condensed magic veering straight at Fleur, colored a triumphant red.

It was a spell of victory, more powerful than any Harry had cast before.

To her credit, Fleur didn't panic. She faced the oncoming spell with a look of determination. A small but thick shield of organically pulsing magic formed at the end of her wand, crackling in the face of the oncoming spell. The two met, straining for dominance, a bright light flashing in and out of focus where they touched.

The flashes of light grew brighter and brighter as the shield and the spell struggled for dominance. Sweat appeared on Fleur's brow and rolled down freely. The heat that the two spells were generating was so intense that Harry could feel it a dozen yards away. There were cries of surprise and fear from the crowd.

Then, with a heavy cry, Fleur aimed her wand toward the sky, sending Harry's spell flying into the rafters where it imploded in a flash of heat and noise. A rain of hot red sparks fell to the ground, garnering shrieks from the crowd as students hurriedly brushed sparks off of their robes.

Harry let himself be disarmed, feeling drained from the exertion of casting such a powerful spell. The exhaustion wasn't dissimilar to what he had felt in casting the Patronus Charm the first few times.

As for the spell itself, it had far surpassed his expectations, pushing Fleur to her limits in an attempt to defeat it. Not for the first time Harry silently thanked Dumbledore for trusting him with his notebooks.

Despite Harry's best efforts, Fleur had won. While it was disappointing the result wasn't in any way surprising to Harry.

The students, however, looked on in a stunned silence. They had gone from crowding the circle to standing a respectable distance away, fearful of getting to close to Harry or Fleur and the devastating spells they had been casting. Fleur held Harry's wand grimly in one hand. Her hair was a mess, her robes singed and in disarray.

"That's what a real duel is like," Fleur said. "It's a fight for survival. You win or you die." She looked out at the students, turning her head so that she could stare them down in turn. "You're dismissed."

Nobody reacted at first. It was like they had been paralyzed by the duel. Then, after a few moments, Fleur's words seemed to sink in and a few students drifted off, speaking to one another only in hushed tones. The crowd left in clumps, expressions ranging from shock to awe to fear.

Hermione and Ron stayed behind and came up to Harry.

"That was brilliant, mate," Ron said, giving Harry a slap on the back.

"I didn't even recognize some of those spells," Hermione said. She squinted at Harry, her expression suggesting that she would be reading his mind if she could. No doubt she would be even more excited at the prospect of Dumbledore's notebooks than Harry had been but there was no way he could show her. A promise to Dumbledore was a promise he would keep.

Fleur walked over to them, handed Harry his wand back, and said, "If it's all the same I'd like to talk to Harry. Alone."

"Yeah, sure. We'll see you back at the tower, Harry," Ron said. Hermione just continued staring at Harry. He knew he would be in for an interrogation later. One didn't just dangle interesting new spells in front of Hermione and expect that she would drop the issue.

Maybe he could have her help him with a few of the spells? He didn't necessarily have to show her the notebooks. He could just paraphrase a page or two into his own writing and show it to her, not mentioning anything about the notebooks. It merited further consideration.

Fleur waited for the last few students to drift off before she said anything. When they realized that Fleur wanted to talk to Harry and wasn't going to take any questions the last loitering students finally left.

"I've never even seen a spell that powerful before," Fleur said.

"Dumbledore showed it to me," Harry said. It was even true in a way.

"You told me he wasn't teaching you," Fleur accused.

"He isn't. That's the first time I've tried to cast it."

"Ignoring the fact that you used an untested spell on me, that was impressive. I think we gave them all something to think about."

"Think that they're going to come back next time?" Harry asked, unable to hold back a smile.

"I think that we'll be lucky if we don't end up with a fan club."

Harry sat down on the mat. He still felt drained from the casting of the spell. The memories that had fuelled it were still there, undamaged by the spell, but they had lost some of their sheen, as if all of the intensity that had gone into the spell had been stolen from them. It was almost like they were someone else's memories. Harry resolved to do more research before casting a spell like that again. Merely skimming Dumbledore's notebook would be beyond foolish.

Fleur sat down next to him, close enough that Harry could smell her, feel her hip against his, and said, "That was a good first meeting, all things considered."

She smelled like sweat and something else, lighter and fruity, that Harry couldn't quite make out. "It was," he agreed.

"I was watching you, you know," Fleur said. "You're an excellent teacher. Not overbearing, but not distant. You help them learn and set an example but you don't coddle them and destroy their independence. Now I see why the former members of the DA are so devoted to you."

"Devoted to me?" Harry asked. Fleur turned her blue eyes toward him, searching his face for something.

"I've talked to a few people about what you did last year. I wanted to hear about it from others. They told me what you risked, what you sacrificed, to help them. It was…inspiring, in a way. Only a great teacher can arouse so much admiration in their students."

"You're not exactly a slouch yourself. I saw you helping the fourth and fifth years with the Shield Charm. A bunch of them would have been helpless if you hadn't been holding their hand," Harry said, trying to deflect some of her praise.

"We'll be great teachers together then," Fleur said.

"Have you given any thought to how long you want to do this? I'm sure, with your qualifications and ability, Dumbledore would be glad to keep you on."

"I hadn't thought about it. Why do you ask?"

"Just curious," Harry said lightly. "I don't know much about what you and Bill have planned or how long this war is going to last. I just figured that the longer the school has you here helping out the better a shot all of these kids have."

"You were asking for entirely altruistic reasons then?" Fleur asked, teasing disbelief clear in her voice.

"The Dueling Club is good for my resume. The longer you're around the longer I have a job."

"Ah, yes. Your dastardly real reason for wanting me around comes to light at last."

"Is it so hard for you to believe that I'm a bad guy?" Harry asked.

"Have you ever done anything even mildly offensive in your entire life?"

"I stole Ron's pies this morning."

"Pure evil."

"They were homemade!"

"You're a menace to society. If you're not careful they'll lock you away in Azkaban."

"I'd just be relying on you to break me out then," Harry said.

"You think I'd waste my time on breaking you out of jail?" Fleur asked.

"Haven't you figured it out yet? It's us against the world," Harry said, slinging an arm over Fleur's shoulders companionably. He couldn't deny a slight trill of pleasure that went through him at the contact.

Fleur laughed, the first he had drawn from her since the night before. Her hand stopped running through her hair and instead looped through Harry's arm. She leaned against his shoulder. Her hair fell like a curtain around her and she had to brush it out of her face. She was warm against him, pleasantly soft, a comforting presence.

Her closeness was an expression of trust, he knew. Despite the relative shortness of their friendship Harry felt that it ran deeper than any other that he had, rivaling even Ron and Hermione. A connection existed between him and Fleur, an understanding, which he hadn't had with even Ron and Hermione so quickly.

Harry's friendship with Ron and Hermione was a function of time and shared experience. With Fleur it was something more intuitive, a meeting of like minds, where the only obstacle to their closeness was their natural reserve. Harry thought that Fleur felt something similar. It was the only way of explaining her level of comfort with him. She treated him almost like they were family, not even seeming to consider how she might be making him feel when she got so close, the effect that her body might have on his own.

"When I was younger I was even more arrogant than I am now," Fleur began, the same tone she always used when she was about to say something personal. "I was sure that the world was mine. After all, what did I lack? Spells came easily to me. I could charm even the most obstinate person. Difficult theoretical problems were nothing to me. As ashamed as it makes me to admit it now, I didn't used to think perfection was so far from my grasp. I was able to hide my pride and my arrogance from the world for a while and everyone thought that I was _so_ modest. First in my class in every subject, I seemed destined for a bright future in the ministry, or finance, or academia; nothing was beyond my reach. Then I was selected for the Triwizard Tournament and everything that I ever thought about myself, every arrogant claim or prideful thought, was, at least to my mind, confirmed."

She paused, and then continued. "Then the world began to shrink before my eyes. I failed in task after task of the tournament. I failed my school and my country. Nobody said it, of course, but I could see that I was sullied in their eyes. I graduated from Beauxbatons first in my class but felt that I had to leave France; at least until the shame I felt was forgotten. I came to England, took a mediocre job with Gringotts, and settled into a routine of tedium and mediocrity.

"And then I met Bill. In a way, he saved me from that self-loathing. I'm not as arrogant, or prideful, as I used to be, but I'm not so self-effacing either. It was like he reminded me of what I could be and put me back together, piece by piece. I don't think it was intentional but he did it. To be honest with you Harry, I'm not sure what I would've ended up doing if he hadn't come along. I was just so ashamed of myself. I couldn't even stand to be around my family."

Her voice became emotional, like she was relieving the story as she told it to Harry. He wondered why she was telling him, what had reminded her of that, but he said nothing, trying to be a comforting presence and not intrude on her story.

"When Bill left for his work in Egypt I wondered how I would react. How much of my… recovery, was me and how much was Bill? Now I know. It was me. Bill was just the catalyst, the reminder of what I could be. I'm glad. I was worried how much I owed him and relied on him.

"This job at Hogwarts is the best thing to happen to me in years. It's made me feel like I did when I was younger, like there's possibility in my life again. Dueling you just now was the most alive I've felt since the tournament. When your last spell hit…the feeling was indescribable. Like a thousand of the greatest moments of life merged together."

Her voice was breathy, exhilarated, her mouth just inches away from his ear. Harry shifted uncomfortably, trying not to let Fleur see what just her words were doing to him.

"It sounds like things are getting better then," Harry said, somewhat awkwardly.

Fleur lifted her head off of Harry's shoulder and locked eyes with him, a smoldering fire burning there. "Much better. But now that I remember what that feels like, that aliveness, we're going to have to duel again, and again, and again, so that I never forget what that feels like again."

Harry shuddered. She sounded almost sensual about dueling and Harry was not at all averse to the idea of having a rematch.

"As many times as you want," he told her.

"I thought that might be your answer," Fleur said, a satisfied smile on her face. She ran a casual hand through Harry's hair, her fingers almost, but not quite, stroking his scalp. She lifted them away after a few seconds, just lingering long enough for the contact to feel a bit more than friendly. Harry supposed that she was just teasing him again. Sometimes she used words and sometimes she got more inventive.

It was strange to Harry how easily Fleur talked about the most intimate parts of herself. He wasn't accustomed to speaking without any emotional filter. Most interactions were circumscribed in a narrow emotional range; each side showed the proper response to happiness or sadness or anger but there was only so much revealed by either person, they both kept secrets and thoughts to themselves.

Talking to Fleur was like being at a confessional. It involved showing the best and the worst of herself and he had to do the same. Harry doubted that most relationships ever got to that point. With Fleur, Harry had opened up after only a few weeks of knowing her, and she had done the same for him. If there were hurdles that friendships had to deal with then Harry and Fleur had skipped on past them, ignoring everything but their interest in each other.

Truth, undiluted by any other consideration, was an intoxicating drug. Every conversation with Fleur ended with him wanting more. They were cathartic. Factor in the banter that he and Fleur could get going without any difficulty and their mutual interest in magic itself, the wonder of it all, and Harry enjoyed spending time with Fleur more than anyone else. He wasn't just posturing when he told her that he would do whatever she needed to help her. Her happiness was important to him; almost surprisingly so.

"I should probably get back and do my homework," Harry said, reluctant to relinquish the warmth by his side.

"Conveniently leaving me to clean up by myself," Fleur noted, more amused than upset.

"I can be your shrink or your assistant; you have to pick one."

She made a face at him, then stood up and helped pull Harry to his feet. Her hands were warm and soft; the kind of hands that hadn't known a day's labor in their life and were all the better for it.

"To think that the scrawny little boy in the Triwizard Tournament would grow up into a half-way decent wizard," Fleur said, her face still alight with the delight from their duel.

After pausing and looking at him for a second, Fleur pulled Harry into a hug, his body tight against hers, her arms locked behind his head. He could feel her chest pressing against his, her legs leaning against his, her head back on his shoulder.

Again, Harry became very aware of his friend's beauty; her startling, otherworldly, willowy, beauty. He could imagine her against him without the cumbersome dueling robes on, dressed like she had been the night before.

Harry broke the hug before his body reacted in a way that Fleur wouldn't be able to ignore. There was a somewhat knowing smile on her face as he pulled away from her.

"All grown up now," Fleur said, in a sing-song voice.

"You're a terrible person," Harry said, turning to leave the room.

She called after him right before he was out the door. "I'm not the one with a dirty mind, Harry!"


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter VI**

Most quidditch tryouts drew a dozen students at most. People generally knew when they had the quality to make the team and, if they didn't, stayed away so as not to humiliate themselves. That made picking the team a relatively simple proposition for the captain.

Harry was not so fortunate. When he arrived at the pitch there were already a dozen people milling around, staring at him, and talking amongst themselves. By the time that tryouts were officially going to start the crowd had swelled to over fifty people. There were students there that weren't even in Gryffindor.

It was an unspoken rule among quidditch captains that you didn't send someone out to spy on another team's tryouts. Even the Slytherins held to the rule most years, though Harry wasn't sure if that was because they were being honorable or it was just too hard to get someone close enough to spy on tryouts without it being obvious.

As he stood just on the edge of the quidditch pitch, Harry was aware that it was probably the last time that he would be wearing his quidditch robes. Ginny was in the crowd, near the front, unbothered by the seething mass of students. He had a feeling she would deal with being captain even better than he would, but he would miss flying. It had been one of his greatest sources of comfort over the years, something he had been genuinely good at; possibly even the best in the school.

"Alright!" Harry shouted. "If you're not a Gryffindor, get out of here. This is a closed tryout."

There were scattered groans and even one quick chorus of boos, but the students did as Harry told them. All of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws that had been in the crowd separated and trudged back up to the castle. That still left over forty people to choose from. Many of the students left were younger, second and third years that Harry recognized from the Dueling Club, standing with their old brooms (or, worse, the school brooms) and looking frightened yet determined.

Harry didn't think that he was a sexist but he doubted that the gaggle of giggling fifth year girls in one corner of the crowd had come to try out for the team. They were wearing an awful lot of makeup for someone who was about to get on a broom.

When they saw him looking at them they broke down into another refrain of giggles. Ginny shot them a disgusted look, more for disturbing the sanctity of the quidditch pitch with their inanity than for their coquetry, Harry thought.

Katie and Ron were the only two returning members of the team. Harry would need to fill another four positions, and he would like to do so with the future in mind. Promoting older students to the first team would leave a hole that a future captain would have to fill in only a few years. Katie was an obvious choice for the chaser position; her tryout would be a formality.

Ron was less of a certainty. He was prone to damaging lapses in concentration and had confidence issues in front of the hoops. Fortunately for him, it didn't look like there was going to be a lot of competition for the keeper position.

"If you're trying out for chaser go stand over there. Beaters over there and keepers there," Harry said, pointing to various spots on the pitch. About half of the crowd went to one of the assigned positions. The rest stayed where they were, content to be spectators. "If you aren't here to try out just stay quiet," he said.

Harry had each of the groups run drills. The prospective chasers would try to score on one of the keepers while the beaters tried to keep the bludgers away from them. It was a one-sided game of quidditch designed to weed out people who could fly a broom and those who couldn't.

The only two people trying out for the keeper position were Ron and McLaggen. Right away Harry was able to tell that it would be a close call. Ron had better distribution and quick reflexes but lacked McLaggen's supreme self-confidence. There wouldn't be any brilliant saves from McLaggen over the course of the season but Harry had the sinking suspicion that McLaggen would be the better player overall.

He was tempted to say no to McLaggen no matter what, on the grounds that he would be a detriment to team morale. McLaggen was a showboat and a git. Quidditch was a team sport and he would never be able to work as well with a group as Ron.

Most of the prospective chasers were horrible. Ginny was an exception, darting past rampant bludgers and placing shot after shot past McLaggen and Ron without remorse. She was a clinical finisher and had a degree of agility that most Hogwarts chasers could only aspire toward. Harry mentally marked her down alongside Katie as one of his chasers.

Predictably, Katie wasn't having any trouble with the tryout either. Ron and McLaggen were saving a fairly equal number of her shots but Ron looked like his confidence was draining away the longer tryouts went on. Being scored on repeatedly by his little sister seemed to be doing him in.

McLaggen only got more and more determined as the tryouts went on; he thrived on the attention that he was getting. The crowd behind Harry had ignored his order to stay quiet and was shouting out the names of the people that they thought should make the team. They seemed to be laboring under the impression that it was a democratic process. Ron had his share of supporters but Ginny and McLaggen had, by far, the loudest fan contingents.

There was a third girl that caught Harry's eye for the last chaser position. The bludgers were giving most of the chasers trouble because the beaters were having such a hard time containing them but the girl wasn't struggling with them at all. Every pass they made at her was effortlessly avoided; she couldn't be touched by anything, it seemed to Harry. Her finishing could use work but she had the natural speed, agility, and passing required to be a top class chaser. Harry decided that she was his final chaser. A pair of students watching, her friends most likely, were screaming her name whenever she pulled off a particularly daring maneuver. Demelza Robins.

Knowing that he wasn't going to be a part of the team after picking it, Harry kept his eye out for a replacement for him as seeker. Ginny seemed the most qualified but Harry worried that if she switched to seeker that would leave their offense drastically weakened. The next best chaser was Dean Thomas, who tried out every year, and he was significantly worse than any of Katie, Ginny, or the other girl. Gryffindor would be relying on their seeker to win every game for them with an unbalanced offense and a questionable keeper in either McLaggen or Ron.

Making matters even worse was the fact that the beaters were going to be the weakest part of the team. Harry could see it already. Only two boys, rambunctious and foulmouthed, were even close to being good enough to play for the house team. The rest were absolutely abysmal. Harry mentally added weak defense to the team's questionable offense. The more he watched the tryouts the less he envied Ginny's impending captainship.

Harry had wanted to leave his mark on the quidditch team as his first and last act as captain, but he was starting to suspect that it wouldn't be the kind of mark he had been hoping for. He could see the roster in his head. Ginny, Dean, Katie, Demelza, Peakes and Coote, and either Ron or McLaggen. It would be a close call but Harry was hoping that Ron would pull through. Part of him wanted Ginny and Katie to take it easy on him; they had to know that McLaggen would be intolerable if he made the team.

To try to finish his deliberating Harry broke the chasers into groups of three, putting Katie, Ginny, and Demelza together, blatantly stacked trio, and had them try to score on Ron and McLaggen. "Best out of seven," he announced.

Hermione left the crowd and came to stand next to Harry. She looked worried. "I couldn't see back there," she said. The spectators had gotten increasingly boisterous. They had taken sides on who was going to become the keeper, with some chanting McLaggen's name and others Ron's. The McLaggen partisans were a good deal louder, Harry thought. Never a good sign when it came to Ron's confidence.

McLaggen had a face of steel as he faced down the oncoming shots. He saved the first two easily, both shots by Demelza, then got shredded for the next four by Katie and Ginny. The last shot he saved with his fingertips, just knocking Ginny's shot over the top of the goalpost. Three saves. Harry hoped that Ron could do better.

"He's not going to make it," Hermione said. She was biting her lip. McLaggen pumped his fist in the air and shot a victorious look down at Harry, winking at Hermione as he flew past. Hermione couldn't seem to decide whether she felt disgusted or enraged.

Ron didn't have the most auspicious start, fumbling the first two shots. They were easy enough and should have been saved but Harry could see him panicking. Ginny threw a soft one for the third and Ron caught it but it didn't seem to restore any of his confidence. All the rest flew cleanly through the goalposts, two from Demelza and two from Katie. Ginny didn't have the heart to score on her brother but it didn't matter. Ron had been soundly beaten by McLaggen.

The chanting in the crowd rose to a crescendo. McLaggen made a valedictory lap around the quidditch pitch, basking in the approbation. Dejectedly, Ron flew to the ground, slung his broom over his shoulder, and slouched back to the castle. Hermione raced after him.

Though he wanted to follow them and make sure that Ron was all right, Harry knew that he had a responsibility to the team for as long as he was captain. He called the rest of the trialists back to the ground and said, "Thank you all for trying out. Selections will be posted in Gryffindor tower sometime next week."

There were more than a few slouched shoulders and grumpy expressions as the students wandered off. Harry figured that it was pretty obvious to everyone who was getting cut. The difference in quality between those who would be making the team and those who wouldn't was immense. Despite that, Harry suspected that it would be the weakest quidditch team that Gryffindor had fielded since before his first year.

There was little chance of them bringing the cup home with such an inexperienced team. Ginny, Demelza, and the two beaters, Peakes and Coote, would all get better with experience, but they were raw as things stood.

"Ginny, do you mind staying for a minute?" Harry asked.

She perked up at him singling her out and Harry led her over to a secluded part of the stands, away from prying ears. Harry noticed a few curious eyes as he led her away but most people were still bemoaning their performance and weren't paying attention to anything going on around them.

"If this is about Ron I tried to go easy on him," Ginny said. Harry imagined that it wouldn't be any easier for her to deal with Ron getting cut than it was for him. She had to live with him, after all.

"It's not about Ron. I'm stepping down as quidditch captain. I can't justify spending so much time on quidditch when Voldemort's out there. There are too many other things I need to be doing."

"And you want me to be captain," Ginny said. It wasn't a question. Katie was too quiet to be an effective captain; she would have a hard time running a team that already knew and respected her. With such a young, untried team, putting her in charge would be a serious mistake, Harry thought.

"Yes. Nobody else can do it. I thought it would be Katie, Demelza, and Dean for chasers, Peakes and Coote for beaters, you for seeker, and McLaggen as keeper."

"McLaggen's a menace and a pervert. I'd rather put Neville in goal than him," Ginny said.

"He is, but making Ron keeper would scream favoritism. It'd be a bad way to start your captainship after everyone saw McLaggen beat him. If he steps out of line you can turf him from the team. That might even make them respect you more."

"Don't you worry about that, Harry. I've got a couple of ideas about how to make them respect me," Ginny said, a malicious smile creeping onto her face.

For a moment Harry pitied everyone who had made the team. He had seen the same gleam in Wood's eyes too many times not to know what it meant.

"Have you told McGonagall yet? To make if official."

"Not yet." Harry had been dreading that particular meeting with his head of house. She was fanatically devoted to the quidditch team and he doubted she would take his abandonment of it well. Sometimes Harry wondered who was more fixated on the Gryffindor quidditch team; Wood or McGonagall. There were strong arguments on both sides.

No doubt McGonagall would want to get him to stay, either trying to guilt him or offering some vague incentive, but Harry resolved to stand firm. He hadn't come to the decision hastily and it was in the best interest in all of wizarding Britain if he quit (though that sounded rather arrogant). He would find a better way of phrasing it for McGonagall.

"And Ron? Have you told him?" Ginny asked.

Harry flinched, then said, "No, I was counting on him making the team."

"So now you're making your best friend's sister the captain of the same team that you just cut him from," Ginny said, almost seeming to admire him.

"I was sure he would make the team…"

"He's going to sulk for weeks. Trust me."

Harry sighed. Ron had a right to be upset. Harry knew that he wouldn't have reacted well had he been cut from the team. Still, he wasn't looking forward to dealing with Ron.

"You know, we haven't talked since our little walk last week," Ginny said, her voice changing, becoming less light.

He had expected that Ginny would want to talk to him about what they had spoken about earlier. Harry had been avoiding her since, in the hopes that she would just forget about it. Fleur's words wouldn't stop ringing in his head whenever he saw Ginny, conflicting with how he felt about her.

Harry wasn't even sure how he felt about her, if he was being honest with himself. The attraction that he had been feeling toward Ginny at the beginning of the year had dimmed, and Harry suspected that he knew why. It wasn't fair; every girl came up short when compared to Fleur, but Harry couldn't help but compare the two. Ginny was short where Fleur was tall, her hair a mess where Fleur's was always perfectly combed, her skin freckled and flushed where Fleur's was flawless and smooth, her body thin and bony where Fleur's was curvy and lush.

"We haven't," Harry said. If they were going to talk it would have to be Ginny that would lead the conversation.

"I'll just be honest then," Ginny said, looking somewhere between exasperated and embarrassed. "I like you, Harry. I never really stopped liking you. After you saved me from the Chamber of Secrets I decided to stop being such a little girl. I stopped idolizing you, starting dating other boys and having my own life, and tried to get to know you as a person instead of the Boy-Who-Lived. But the feelings never went away.

"I clearly haven't done a very good job of hiding my feelings toward you because you didn't seem surprised at all the last time we talked. It was like you already knew how I felt. So I'm not hiding anymore. I'm telling you how I feel and if you feel anything like that then now's the time to say it."

She seemed earnest. If there was any disingenuousness there Harry couldn't detect it. In a way, he admired her willingness to come right out and say what they had been dancing around last time. She was cutting through the usual flirtatious routine, putting herself out there in a way that Harry doubted he ever could.

He decided to point out the obvious problem. "You're dating Dean. How do you think it would look if you dumped him and immediately starting dating me?"

"You're trying to think of reasons that we wouldn't work," Ginny said. "There's no reason that we would have to get together in public right away. I don't want to hurt Dean's feelings but he was never more than just a fun boyfriend and he knew that. It wasn't serious between us. I think that you and I could actually have something. We get along, don't we?"

There wassomething between them; Harry couldn't deny that. The way that he felt when he saw her with Dean, kissing him or holding his hand or laughing with him; it was undeniable proof that he felt _something_ for her. But what he felt wasn't anything he had felt before. It wasn't the blatant sexual attraction he felt for Fleur (much as he tried to ignore that) or the simple crush he had had on Cho. It was more complicated, less easily defined.

Fleur always made Ginny out to be some kind of child devil; conniving, cruel, and ruthless in the pursuit of her goals. She didn't seem like that to Harry. Rather, she seemed earnest and vulnerable, pursuing him despite all common sense and self-preservation.

Aware that the pause had stretched for an uncomfortably long time, Harry decided to reciprocate her honesty. "I don't know how I feel. But maybe that's a good thing, because I want to find out. We could try, if you wanted. You know, a date or something. Maybe in Hogsmeade."

Harry felt like he was fumbling horribly but Ginny didn't seem to care. She lit up at his words, a broad smile coming over her face, and she stood up on her tiptoes and pulled on the back of Harry's head to bring his lips down to meet hers.

It was the lightest of touches, a caress more than a kiss, but it enflamed Harry's imagination, sent a spark surging through his body. Suddenly he wasn't thinking so much of her deficiencies compared to Fleur. In fact, Ginny, windswept and sweaty from tryouts, looked more beautiful to Harry than ever before.

He didn't pull her closer and he didn't protest when she broke the kiss after a few short seconds. It hadn't been the kind of kiss that was a prelude to something more. "I think that I'll be the one taking you out on a date, Harry," she said. Her hands were fiddling with the front of his robes in a soothing manner. She seemed far from the tomboyish quidditch player that had been on the pitch only a few minutes before.

There was little doubt left in Harry's mind that everything Fleur had told him, everything he had suspected about Ginny, was groundless. She wanted him to like her, she had admitted as much, but it was a leap from that to manipulative shrew. Fleur may have had her own reasons for disliking Ginny, may have even tried to push Harry away from her for whatever reason, but Harry was starting to think that Ginny was nothing like he had been suspecting.

"That's alright with me," Harry said. Really, he would have expected nothing less from Ginny. She was the farthest thing from passive. No doubt she had been planning what to do with the opportunity of a date for some time; saw it as her chance to win him over. It would be better than anything he would be able to cook up; of that Harry had no doubt.

"Good. And do me one favor, Harry. Don't tell my brother about this. For both our sakes," Ginny said.

"He's in a bad enough mood as it is," Harry agreed.

She smiled at him, turned to leave, and, over her shoulder, said, in a sweet voice, "I look forward to our date then, Harry."

As she left, Harry had the feeling that he had just made a decision that would infuriate both Ron and Fleur when they found out. Fleur hated Ginny and Ron hated the idea of anyone with Ginny. Hermione would be his only shelter from their wrath, Harry thought.

* * *

Each year at Hogwarts seemed to grow bleaker than the last. Each week there were reports in the Daily Prophet about attacks by Death Eaters, with friends and family members of other students killed or abducted. Attacks on key ministry installations were growing increasingly common, a distressing sign of boldness among Voldemort's ranks. The Prophet continued to run patriotic opinion pieces but their effect was somewhat lessened, given that they were all written under pseudonyms. After enough tragedy, the rest became little more than white noise in the background; it was easily ignorable, as terrible as Harry found it to admit. As the deaths mounted, he supposed that the only way to deal with it was to ignore it.

There was an inessential quality to the air of panic around Hogwarts, an abstractness, which came from the students' own position of safety within the walls of the castle. The families of half-bloods and muggleborns were constantly in danger, fearful at all times of being targeted by Voldemort for being less than pure, but the students themselves had no such fears, cradled as they were by the walls of Hogwarts and the watchful eyes of Albus Dumbledore.

Despite their own security, few remained unaffected by the state of Wizarding Britain. Ron was one of the first down to breakfast every morning. He would wait for the owls to come in order to make sure that there wouldn't be any terrible news in a letter. It was a ritual for him, to come down early and wait, unable to eat, for a letter that would tell him about what unspeakable horrors had befallen a member of his family.

Hermione tried her best to keep him from worrying but he was unshakable in his belief that he needed to be there, the first one to hear the news. Harry thought that he was trying to shield Ginny, to be the one to get the news through a letter so that she didn't have to. It was, Harry decided, the best thing Ron had ever done as an older brother. It was also agonizing to watch, morning after morning.

The mood didn't get to Harry and Hermione quite so much. They both cared about the Weasleys and hoped nothing would happen to them, Harry thought about them like family, but they both had lives in the muggle world. Lives that, in all likelihood, would remain untouched by the war. Having another world to return to made the war seem more tolerable than it did to students who had only ever known the wizarding world. For them, the war touched everything they had ever known.

Though he tried not to be suspicious, in the name of inter-house unity, Harry couldn't help but keep a close eye on the Slytherins. He ignored the younger students for the most part, reasoning that they wouldn't be trusted with anything important or told anything by their parents, but he watched the older students closely, the ones who seemed least bothered by the chaos that the wizarding world was descending into.

They strutted around Hogwarts with confidence because they knew that they could play both sides. They were safe no matter no matter what. The Ministry and Dumbledore wouldn't touch them and Voldemort would never risk putting future Death Eaters at risk. While the happiness and confidence of the rest of the school diminished, theirs grew.

In particular, Harry watched Malfoy. His behavior over the course of the year had been the opposite of what Harry had expected. There was no confidence or bragging from Malfoy; he was keeping his head down, focusing on his work, and Harry saw less of him than he had ever before. None of the other Slytherins that Malfoy usually spent time with, Crabbe and Goyle included, were ever with him. It was as if he was a new person. Harry didn't trust it. There were few reasons for such a dramatic transformation and during a war, none of them boded well.

One night, when Harry was walking back to the common room after having a private dueling session with Fleur, he happened to see Malfoy slinking through the hallways, quickly looking over his shoulder as if fearful he was being followed. As if to eliminate any possibility of pursuit, Malfoy ducked through a number of secret passages and hidden corridors that only those who had spent countless hours plumbing Hogwarts of her secrets even knew existed. Anyone but Harry soon would have lost sight of Malfoy.

Harry was sure that anything that made Malfoy so interested in secrecy was something he should be interested in as well. Though he didn't have his invisibility cloak Harry had enough practice in sneaking around to be sure that Malfoy wouldn't see him. Fleur had taught him the Disillusionment Charm on a lark one afternoon and he put the spell to good use as an added level of protection from Malfoy's roving eyes.

Malfoy's course took him directly out of the castle, by way of a little used side passage that ran adjacent to the Great Hall. Harry followed at what he deemed a safe distance. It was dark outside, a sliver of moon providing barely enough light for Harry to safely put one foot in front of the other. Nobody was on the castle grounds and winter was starting to claw its way into Scotland. Harry could see traces of his breath in front of his face, a chill cloud that vanished quickly into the dark night.

Malfoy took a weaving path into the Forbidden Forest. The little light that had been shining on the castle grounds, reflected from the castle's torches and the half-moon overhead, was lost somehow in the thick limbed trees of the forest. Malfoy had to light up the tip of his wand to make sure he wouldn't be sent sprawling by a root or fallen tree. It was nearly impossible to see more than a foot in front of where Harry was. The distance between him and Malfoy started to grow, Harry moving slowly so as to not trip or make any noise.

Just when Harry thought that he was going to have to turn back, Malfoy becoming nothing more than an indistinct blur in the distance, the other boy stopped moving. They were far apart and Harry could just barely make out the clearing that Malfoy was waiting in, his wand light dim enough it lit up only the ground closest to him. Harry slowly took up a position a dozen yards away from the clearing. Malfoy was clearly waiting for someone or something.

A few minutes passed. Malfoy grew increasingly agitated as whatever he was waiting for didn't show up. The cold was saturating Harry, cutting at him, and he could feel his body starting to shake. The forest was even colder than the grounds had been, the unnatural chill that was always in the air there exacerbated by the stirrings of winter. Harry hoped that whoever Malfoy was trying to meet would show up soon or else he would risk serious injury. He knew that he couldn't cast the Warming Spell; there was too high a chance that Malfoy would see the distinctive flash of orange. He had no choice but to sit quietly and suffer.

A shadowy figure emerged from the woods; a man cloaked all in black with a face obscured in the darkness. He wasn't wearing a mask but Harry had no doubts what he was seeing. Draco Malfoy was meeting a Death Eater in the Forbidden Forest.

Harry knew that he had to tell Dumbledore as soon as he could. This concerned all of the students of Hogwarts. Nothing good could come of any plot of Voldemort's.

The two of them were too far away for Harry to make out what they were saying. Whatever it was clearly upset Malfoy, because he started gesticulating wildly at the man in black, his posture slumping when he got no response. Harry took some comfort in Malfoy's distress. Whatever he was plotting clearly wasn't going well.

No further words were exchanged between the two. The man in black handed a package wrapped in black cloth to Malfoy, who took it cautiously, as if fearful the wrong touch would break it.

The man in black apparated from the clearing. Malfoy slumped to his knees, his posture completely defeated. Harry could see his shoulders shaking. Though not enough to make Harry pity Malfoy, it made him wonder if Malfoy was quite so voluntary a participant as he had assumed. His meeting with the man in black certainly hadn't seemed a meeting of equals. More like Malfoy was being pushed into something, and the consequences of his failure were laid out clearly before him.

Harry couldn't say how long Malfoy kept that position but his hands were entirely numb by the time Malfoy started back for the castle. This time Harry felt no inclination to follow the boy. He knew that he had seen the extent of what Malfoy was going to do. Nobody could pivot from loss to action that quickly. Malfoy would go to sulk and plot and lick his wounds before he enacted the next stage of his plan.

Though he wanted to see what the man in black had given Malfoy, Harry doubted that the package would be opened anywhere that Malfoy thought there was even a chance he would be seen. Malfoy was proud, and even arrogant, but he wasn't a fool. He wouldn't risk Voldemort's displeasure.

Whether Malfoy was working against Hogwarts voluntarily or involuntarily didn't make much of a difference, Harry decided as Malfoy faded from sight. He was a threat either way. It was doubtful that the Ministry or Order would be able to do anything to end the blackmail hanging over Malfoy's head, if indeed he actually was being blackmailed. And if he wasn't being blackmailed, if every step he had taken was voluntary, they would only tip their hand by approaching him. For the sake of the other students at Hogwarts, they had to treat Malfoy as if he were a threat.

The pertinent question was what was Malfoy plotting? Figuring that out would mean Harry had a chance to stop Malfoy before he and Voldemort struck. He resolved to keep a close watch on Malfoy and couldn't help but feel that if he had only followed Malfoy into Knockturn Alley when he had been with Fleur all those months ago he would have been able to gain some knowledge about what Malfoy was plotting.

He would have to go to Dumbledore, Harry knew. Nobody else was in a position to do anything about Malfoy. Dumbledore would be able to get others, teachers and Order members, to keep an eye on Malfoy, track his movements, and figure out what he was planning. Harry would be able to do next to nothing on his own.

Harry returned to the castle and basked in the heat as feeling flooded back into his extremities. When he made it back to the common room, Harry found Ron and Hermione sitting next to each other, only the slightest bit of space between them, on a couch in front of the fire. He didn't mention anything about Malfoy to them. The fewer people that knew about Malfoy the less chance there was that he would be tipped off that Harry knew.

As he settled in front of the fire and talked absently to Ron and Hermione, Harry couldn't help but wonder if he was making the right decision. A year ago he would have taken on the Malfoy investigation on his own and refused to cede the role to Dumbledore or anyone else. Then again, a year ago they hadn't been at war. Voldemort had been skulking in the shadows, fearful of showing his face. Now the stakes were higher, the risks even more severe. It would be _wrong_ to try to watch Malfoy on his own, like he was taking the lives of every other Hogwarts student into his own hands.

If there was something that Harry had learned from the ministry, from losing Sirius, it was that he couldn't do everything himself. He couldn't wage war on Voldemort alone. He needed help. And Albus Dumbledore was as mighty an ally as anyone could wish for.

Draco Malfoy, whatever his plot, would be foiled, Harry reassured himself. Even a lessened Dumbledore was more than a match, in both mind and magic, for any Hogwarts student.

* * *

Dumbledore was waiting next to his pensieve when Harry entered his office. One hand was swirling dreamily through the memories contained within. The other, his damaged one, was hidden inside the folds of his robes, its new resting place. Dumbledore rarely allowed it to be seen; whether that was out of fear of being thought weakened or simple politeness, Harry wasn't sure.

Fawkes was on his perch. He stared at Harry when he entered and Harry stroked the birds plumage for a few seconds. The phoenix squawked a greeting, its trill sending a pleasant shudder through Harry's spine.

"I have something you need to know, professor," Harry said.

Dumbledore looked up from the pensieve. "Oh?" He waited patiently for Harry to gather his thoughts.

"I saw Malfoy acting suspiciously last night and followed him. He seemed concerned about someone keeping tabs on him so I thought it was important to make sure he wasn't up to anything.. He went out to a clearing into the Forbidden Forest and met with someone. I couldn't see their face and they were wearing all black, but I think it was a Death Eater. Malfoy talked to them for a few minutes, was given a package, and then went back to the castle."

"Did you see what the package was? And how did Mr. Malfoy behave after the conclusion of this meeting?" Dumbledore asked, speaking slowly. He seemed utterly unperturbed by what Harry was telling him.

"I couldn't see the package but Malfoy seemed…distraught. Desperate. Terrified. He fell on his knees and I think he might have been crying," Harry said.

"Then he's being coerced," Dumbledore said. He nodded as if that information confirmed something he had already suspected. Harry was bemused by his reaction. He had expected Dumbledore to be surprised, grateful, angry; show some reaction to the fact that there was a student plotting against them right under his nose. But he was as placid as ever.

"You don't seem all that upset," Harry said probingly.

"I have been aware of Mr. Malfoy's activities for some time now. The what and the why of his activities have, I confess, eluded me, but I believe that you have just provided me with the why, Harry. It was my hope that he was doing the will of the Dark Lord because he was being coerced, either through threats to himself or to his family. His behavior suggests that his allegiance to Voldemort is not voluntary, which, in turn, means that he is not yet beyond our help."

If anything, Dumbledore looked pleased with himself, as if Harry had brought him a gift rather than troubling information about an enemy. Even if Malfoy was being coerced, Harry didn't see how that changed the situation. He was a threat no matter what his true beliefs were.

"You said you didn't know the what?" Harry asked, a clarifying question that he meant to remind Dumbledore they couldn't know how much of a threat Malfoy posed unless they knew what he was up to.

"While I do not know what Mr. Malfoy is plotting I am confident that I will soon be in possession of that information. There are avenues of attack beyond the obvious, Harry. I could, of course, expel him, but that would undoubtedly lead him into the arms of Voldemort, condemning him to a life I wish on none of my students. If I offered him protection and we later discover that it's his family that is being threatened then he would likely feel like he had no choice but to tell Voldemort that we know of him, leading, again, to a forced allegiance to Voldemort. Any action on our part would push Mr. Malfoy into a precarious situation. Our best line of defense is patience. With more information we will be able to act more assuredly."

Harry tried to keep his dissatisfaction off of his face but he felt as if Dumbledore had just pushed him off of the astronomy tower. It was noble to try to keep Malfoy safe but Dumbledore's responsibility was to the school in general, all of its students, not to just one of them. If he tried to protect Malfoy and Malfoy ended up being responsible for hurting, or even killing, other students, then Dumbledore would have to take responsibility for that. It was a dangerous move. Being patient was playing a game even riskier than confronting Malfoy, Harry thought.

"If you think so, professor," Harry said. Though he didn't voice his concern he made sure that his tone of voice conveyed his disapproval. There was nothing that he could do to Malfoy without Dumbledore. He had to trust the headmaster. Even if he didn't agree.

"Even one wayward youth can have a profound impact on the course of this war, Harry. Do not be so quick to judge Mr. Malfoy. He has had, in some ways, as challenging a life as your own. Often our enmity to another blinds us to the forces that shaped them into what they are. Speaking of which, it is time for us to delve, once more, into the mind of Tom Riddle."

Harry approached the pensieve, took Dumbledore proffered arm, and they dropped in together. He had become accustomed to the sense of extreme vertigo that came with entering memories. In the memories they explored Harry saw Slytherin's locket and the bleak orphanage where Riddle had grown up; he learned about Riddle's accidental magic as a child, the way he was able to control it and twist it to his own ends. It was both fascinating and horrifying. Horrifying because no child should have had such malice in them, such a drive to control and dominate, but fascinating because Harry had no idea Riddle had been able to control their magic so well from such a young age. Without a wand, no less. Harry hadn't been able to accomplish anywhere near what he had.

"I didn't know that others were able to control their accidental magic so well," Harry said, once they had exited the pensieve.

"They aren't," Dumbledore said. He drew the memories from within the pensieve and placed them into vials which he locked inside a thick wooden cabinet above the pensieve. "Tom was exceptional even from his earliest days. I know of no other wizard, myself included, who was able to control their magic to such a degree before receiving any additional training. Even more astounding is that Tom was not yet aware of magic as a real discipline. In some respects he was, and remains to this day, peerless."

"I wonder why he chose to become Voldemort, then. He could have done so much else," Harry said, some sense of loss, of misplaced potential, weighing him down.

"Something I have noticed over the years is that those who lack something they desire, whether it happens to be money, respect, or love, will go to any lengths to get that which they lack. Tom Riddle, for almost all of his early life, lacked control. And he has spent the rest of his life trying to acquire that control; often through appalling methods."

"It's almost enough to make you feel bad for Riddle," Harry said.

"There is nothing in this world that Voldemort would desire less than your pity, Harry, but it's good that you feel that way. You only begin to pity someone when you understand them." Dumbledore said.

There was a lull in the conversation, as if they were both following such trains of thought independently, in their own minds, and had no need to say what they were thinking out loud.

After a minute, Harry's mind turned away from Voldemort. "I have a question, professor. Actually, a few questions. They aren't about Riddle."

"It's about the books I gave you," Dumbledore said, a pleased smile coming over his face.

"Yes. I used one of the spells you'd written down, _Praefortis_ , and it was powerful. Stronger than any spell I've ever cast before, except maybe the patronus. I don't understand why, if those spells are so powerful, people don't just use them all time."

Adopting his pedagogical tone, Dumbledore said, "For multiple reasons. The first and most obvious is that such magic is obscure. Generally the more powerful the knowledge the fewer people that know it. Power is hoarded, not distributed equally. Despite the prodigious size of Hogwarts' library, there are uncountable spells that have never been recorded within these walls.

"We must also remember that such spells require a talented witch or wizard to cast them; the average graduate of Hogwarts would struggle to wield such magic, if it were even possible for them to do so. I must also warn you, Harry, since I worry that you may not have read the warnings in my notebooks, that there is a cost to the spell you used. Each time you use such a spell it takes something from you, deadens a memory. The spell you used is a spell of victory, and uses memories of victory to give itself form. Over time memories can disintegrate from the strain of using such spells. They lose their vigor, then their clarity, and over time they decompose and you're left with nothing but a strange sense of loss, of having misplaced something, but you can never be sure what you've lost."

He spoke as if he was intimately familiar with such loss, Harry thought, though he supposed that someone as powerful as Dumbledore, who had fought as many battles as Dumbledore, would've had to resort to such powerful magic at times; over time they would have exacted their price. It was just another reminder to Harry that he had to read Dumbledore's notebooks more carefully, not just skim them for whatever new spell he wanted to learn.

Dumbledore continued: "Most magic requires no price. It is the strongest, wildest, most incomprehensible magic that exacts a price. Some of it is dark, some of it is not, but all take their toll. While I am glad that you are capable of using the magic I do not think that using it indiscriminately is wise. Memories are, in many respects, the foundation of who we are. If you weaken that foundation enough, the consequences could be catastrophic."

"I think I understand," Harry said. It conformed to what he had felt after he cast the spell at Fleur. Reaching for the memory he had used, it seemed less sure to Harry, hazier, like the emotions that usually hitched themselves on memories were dulled. Harry had only cast the spell once. He could only imagine what repeated casting would do. Emotional, or even mental, trauma, perhaps.

"I've been working through your notebook but I'm finding it rather difficult to follow," Harry said.

His admission got a chuckle out of Dumbledore. "That particular notebook was never designed for public use. I gave it to you because I thought that you might be able to glean some useful information from it but you were never intended to understand it all. I was older than you when it was written and I had a fondness for magical theory when I was younger; even the most erudite scholar would have a difficult time parsing some of that writing. Do what you can with the book and leave the rest where it belongs; to the graveyard of memory."

"There are some parts of the notebook that have a focus on…different spells. It was a bit strange," Harry said. Less different, and more dangerous, destructive, and difficult, if he was being honest.

Dumbledore's blackened hand slipped from his robes, the fingers twitching as if they had a life of their own. He paid his hand no heed. He didn't seem to realize that it was out in the open. His thoughts were somewhere else.

"Your curiosity does you credit, but there are certain sections of my notebook that I wish would remain a forgotten memory, even to myself," Dumbledore said. After another moment he folded his blackened hand back into his robes.

"Yes, professor," Harry agreed, eager not to be seen as pushy. He suspected that for Dumbledore to be as open as he was being, even if there was much left unrevealed, was a rarity in itself.

"Study the mind of your enemy, study your magic, and spread your knowledge; that is our best defense against the tide that would sweep us away," Dumbledore said, his voice low, almost as if he was speaking for himself and not for Harry.

Anxious to offer up some good news and cut off the dark path that Dumbledore's mind seemed to be moving down, Harry said, "The Dueling Club is going well. Membership hardly dropped after the first lesson. Almost everyone comes every session and they're learning a lot; even the younger students have improved a lot since the first time. I think they're eager to actually practice magic in a practical setting."

"I'm glad my high hopes for the club weren't misplaced," Dumbledore said. The heaviness of his mood washed away. "You sound as if you've discovered something of the wonders of teaching." He winked at Harry.

"I'm not sure I would go that far. It's Fleur who's really enjoying herself. I don't think she knew that she would enjoy being the Dueling instructor as much as she is. She used to think it was beneath her or something. Now it's all she looks forward to. Won't stop badgering me about preparing for our next meeting," Harry said, smiling fondly.

"I've heard nothing but wonderful things about Miss Delacour since she arrived at Hogwarts. The position is hers for as long as she desires it," Dumbledore said.

"She'll be happy to know that," Harry said.

"In fact, I was thinking of extending membership to the Order of the Phoenix to Miss Delacour. I wondered if you might be able to find out what her reaction would be. I don't want to be presumptuous, she isn't from our shores after all, but she is marrying a Weasley and they have an excellent track record when it comes to finding a spouse with a highly developed sense of justice."

Harry wasn't sure how Fleur would respond to such an invitation but he didn't see any reason why he couldn't float the idea by her. He told Dumbledore as much.

"Wonderful. I feel that this has been a productive night, Harry. I'm not sure that we will see each other again before the holidays and so I wish you an early, very merry Christmas."

Before he left, Harry had one more question; one that had been plaguing him through all of their meetings. "Professor, Voldemort doesn't really seem like a man anymore. At least, not the person he used to be. Can learning about his past really help to defeat him?"

"Lord Voldemort is both more than, and less than, a man. He has changed, sometimes in disturbing and profound ways, but the core of Voldemort is the core of Tom Riddle; understand the younger and you have a glimpse into the mind of the older."

Fawkes warbled as Harry left the room. Thoughts of Voldemort, Malfoy and the mysterious writings of Dumbledore's notebook spun in Harry's head.

* * *

"Ron, hurry up or else there won't be anywhere to," Hermione said.

"Don't worry about it. If we can't find somewhere to sit we'll just ask one of Harry's adoring fans to make room for us," Ron said, not hurrying from his lackadaisical slouch of a walk.

It was the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year. Harry would have expected to take Ginny somewhere on a date if she hadn't seemed to be planning what they were going to do on her own. The few times Harry had spoken to her since they had decided to go on a date together she had been closed-mouthed about what exactly they would be doing.

Harry was surprised to find himself anticipating the date; it would be a nice break from the monotony of his life. Hogwarts always settled into a routine, even amidst the upheaval in Wizarding Britain, and to an extent Harry enjoyed the predictability, but it was always nice to have some deviation from the norm to keep things interesting.

"Don't encourage them," Harry said. The blind respect that the student body used to have for Harry had morphed into a more deliberate adoration; a result, Hermione claimed, of his work with the Dueling Club, and especially his duel with Fleur. Nobody outside of a few members of the DA had ever seen Harry pushed to his limits before and it was apparently enough to impress the other students. There probably weren't any other students at Hogwarts who would be able to contend with Harry in a fair duel.

The number of rumors that were being spread about him had tripled since his duel with Fleur. The most persistent, as always, was that he was being trained by Dumbledore. It was, in a way, true, not that it made the constant rumormongering any more tolerable.

"What's the point of fame if you're not going to use it," Ron asked rhetorically. They were walking down the path to Hogsmeade, Ron setting a pace that was slow even for him.

Ever since he was cut from the quidditch team Ron had been acting strangely. Hard to motivate and uninterested in most things. It had been a struggle for Harry and Hermione to get him to agree to go to Hogsmeade. Hermione had told Harry more than once that she was worried about Ron but Harry didn't see that there was anything they could do. He was sure that Ron would break out of whatever funk he was in given enough time after the tryouts. It had been a blow to his ego when he lost the keeper position to McLaggen, but Harry was sure it wouldn't turn into anything more serious.

In a way, it had helped when Harry told Ron that he was giving up the captainship. He wasn't forced to watch Harry go and lead the team he had been kicked from every day, a constant reminder of his own inadequacies. Still, despite the comradery that Harry was trying to build, Ron was acting more oddly than Harry had ever seen before. Usually Ron resorted to anger or jealousy; for him to just become uninterested was troubling.

"I still don't understand why you invited _her_ ," Hermione said to Harry.

"She's never been to Hogsmeade before and I thought she might like to see the town," Harry said, as non-confrontationally as possible. Hermione had been complaining for hours and Harry was just doing his best to pretend that it wasn't getting to him.

"That doesn't mean it has to be you," she said.

"If not me then who?" Harry asked. Hermione huffed but didn't respond.

Harry had told Fleur about Hogsmeade weekend and invited her to join them, to Hermione's great displeasure, telling her that he would be more than happy to show her around the town. Even with the disclaimer that Hogsmeade wasn't much Fleur had seemed pleased to be invited along. Harry had been getting the impression that she had a lot of free time and that showing her around Hogsmeade would make a nice diversion for her. Being the Dueling Club instructor wasn't a massive drain on her time or energy.

Showing Fleur around Hogsmeade would also be a good opportunity to tell her about Dumbledore's offer for her to join the Order. While there had been a Dueling Club session since his meeting with Dumbledore, Harry hadn't had the chance to speak to Fleur at any great length before he needed to dash off after Hermione to get help on a Potions essay.

"Wouldn't want Fleur to have to wait at the Three Broomsticks by herself for too long, would we?" Ron asked. Harry couldn't tell whether or not he was being sarcastic.

"It would be rude," Harry agreed, deciding to take him as literally as possible.

All things considered, they weren't the best group, Harry had to admit. Hermione was fuming, Ron was apathetic, and he knew that Fleur wasn't going to be any more conciliatory than she absolutely had to be. Harry couldn't remember a Hogsmeade visit with a less auspicious beginning.

The village was less crowded when they arrived than it usually was. The threat of Voldemort had made students less bold than in years past. There was a Ministry contingent that was supposed to protect the village but nobody deluded themselves into thinking it would be adequate if there was an attack. Voldemort struck quickly, with overwhelming numbers, and without mercy.

Still, Harry didn't think that Voldemort would be so bold as to attack Hogsmeade. He wouldn't try anything so long as Dumbledore was nearby. The headmaster's presence shielded the village from the worst of the war's harm. There were softer target in Britain.

Interestingly, it wasn't the younger students who were frightened off by the prospect of war but the older students. The younger students couldn't seem to imagine war touching them; it was outside their scope of comprehension. The older students seemed better able to grasp the implications of war.

There were plenty of open tables in the Three Broomsticks when Ron, Harry, and Hermione entered. The usual dull roar of conversation that was half the reason for the pub's charm had subsided into an unenthused murmur. More than a few patrons glanced over when the three of them entered, a contrast to the blithe unconcern usually displayed. Madam Rosmerta gave them a bland greeting, not her usual cheery self, and Harry supposed that the war was bad for business and morale. Gloom seemed to be the order of business in the wizarding world ever since Voldemort had come back.

"There she is," Ron said, pointing to a table in the far corner.

Fleur was sitting and sipping at a butterbeer while a handsome older man, someone Harry didn't recognize, was leaning against the wall and talking with her. Or, Harry thought, it would be more accurate to say that he was talking at her. She seemed utterly unimpressed with whatever he was saying, giving the bare minimum in the way of response, but that wasn't deterring the man, who only doubled down the less she responded.

"We should probably go rescue her," Hermione said, unusually sympathetic.

"Someone tell that git that she's getting married," Ron muttered.

They walked over to the table and Fleur cheered up considerably when she saw them. She turned to the man and said something dismissive to him, causing his face to drop into a surly frown. He glared at the three of them when they approached but, to Harry's relief, left without giving them any trouble.

"Making friends?" Harry asked, sliding into Fleur's booth. Ron and Hermione sidled in along the other side.

"Not quite. I had hoped that the people in a quaint village would have the manners to go along with their villages' charm. I was profoundly mistaken. That was one of the most dull, self-assured, buffoons that I've ever had the misfortune of dealing with," Fleur said. She glared at her Butterbeer, as if it were responsible for drawing the man over.

"Tell us how you really feel," Ron said. It was a rarity for him to talk around Fleur. His funk seemed to be extending even over his admittedly deep-rooted attraction to, and fear of, Fleur. There was none of his customary embarrassment or stammering.

"I won't apologize for the poor manners of your countrymen," Fleur said, but in a more joking manner.

"If you think they're bad I should show you around Knockturn Alley," Harry said. The thought of Fleur hexing a handsy Mundungus Fletcher came to mind and Harry had to stifle a giggle.

"At least this is good," Fleur said, gesturing toward her butterbeer. "We don't have anything quite so heavy in France."

"Speaking of which, I could go for once myself." Ron got up and wandered off to the bar. Harry hoped that he would get one for everyone.

"Did you have any trouble finding this place?" Hermione asked politely.

"No, it's about the village's only attraction," Fleur said.

Harry almost sighed. He knew that he would have to steer the conversation between Fleur and Hermione. They both seemed to have taken a quiet dislike to each other; it was like a cold war was being fought between them. For two intelligent, mature witches it was remarkably petty, Harry thought.

"I was thinking that after we all have a drink we could show you around the village; go to Zonko's, Tomes and Scrolls, and maybe Gladrags," Harry said. That was about all the town had to offer—a place to have a drink, a joke shop that the Weasley twins made look like a joke itself, a small bookstore, and a clothes shop that Harry imagined Fleur would find underwhelming.

"We don't have to go to Gladrags, Harry," Fleur told him, a mock-benevolent look on her face.

Harry let go off the fearful breath he had been holding in. "You're a kind mistress."

Hermione stared oddly at the two of them, her focus only shifting when Ron returned, three butterbeers in hand. He placed them down on the table and drank half of his in one go, a lazy, satisfied smile stretching his face when he set it down again.

"That's worth the walk down here on its own," Ron said.

The three of them clanked their mugs together, a silent cheers. Fleur watched their easy companionship with an unreadable expression.

There was a bit of an awkward silence; the sort that came about when someone tried to bring together two groups of friends that didn't know each other and didn't have much in the way of common interests. Fleur disliked Hermione and oscillated between contempt and apathy toward Ron.

Harry wasn't looking at her but he could practically feel Hermione's glare on him for forcing her into the situation. Ron didn't seem to mind. He was lost in his own thoughts, taking a small swig of his butterbeer every now and then in a mechanical motion.

"I've enjoyed the Dueling Club a lot," Hermione said. It was stiff, but at least she was making an effort, Harry thought.

"Thank you. I've been trying to make sure that anyone, no matter how advanced they are, could get something out of it," Fleur said, her pleasure evident. Though she didn't have many weaknesses, flattery was definitely one of them.

"Even the people who usually struggle with dueling, like Neville, have really improved because of the club. He won't stop talking about how much he's looking forward to group dueling. He seems to have much more confidence in himself because of this and the DA," Hermione continued.

"You-Know-Who won't know what hit him," Ron chimed in.

"That's the idea," Harry said, smiling at the idea of Neville (of all people) facing down Voldemort. He had improved but he hadn't improved _that_ much.

"What made you decide to teach the Piercing Curse instead of the Shield Breaking Charm?" Hermione asked. Though Harry doubted that she was trying to come off as critical her tone inevitably took on a superior quality, as it always did when she was questioning people about their choices, as if she knew better and obviously would have made a better decision. It was one of her idiosyncrasies that Harry would feel bad about pointing out, but at the same time was frustrating to hear over and over again.

Fleur picked up on the tone and said, "The Shield Breaking Charm is a one-use spell. It serves one function and does its job well but lacks the versatility of the Piercing Curse. We don't have time to teach everyone a hundred different spells for a hundred different situations; my job is to give them the flexibility to succeed in any situation."

"But it's a Dueling Club," Hermione pressed. "And there's no substitute for the Shield Breaking Charm in a one-on-one duel."

"I think that there are merits to both points of view," Harry said, hoping to cut the legs off of the argument. His attempt did nothing but earn him a snide look from Fleur and an annoyed one from Hermione. Nobody took their views more personally than Hermione; disagreement was tantamount to an insult. Ron was watching the conversation going back and forth as if it were the most amusing thing he had seen all week.

"In the time it takes to cast the Shield Breaking Charm and another offensive spell a talented wizard will have already ended you. You're not up against your peers when you go into the real world; you're facing wizards with years or even decades of dueling experience at the highest level. You may have read that there's no substitute for the Shield Breaking Charm but frankly that's just wrong," Fleur said, finality and a contemptuous annoyance mixing in her words. It was the sort of tone you took with an annoying younger sibling when they wouldn't leave you alone, Harry thought. Ron had levelled the same voice at Ginny often enough.

"Hermione, wasn't there a book you wanted to get from Tomes and Scrolls," Ron said, breaking into the conversation. His amusement seemed to have faded somewhat.

Not getting the chance to respond to Fleur was eating away at Hermione but she nodded to Ron and, without drinking almost any of her butterbeer, left the Three Broomsticks with him.

"She takes things very personally," Fleur said, taking a drink as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

"So do you," Harry said, a bit gloomily. Bringing together the disparate parts of his life—Ron, Hermione, Fleur, and Ginny—didn't seem like it was going to happen anytime soon.

"Books are a supplement to life, not the core of it. She'll learn that lesson the hard way soon enough," Fleur said.

"You could at least try to be nice to her. For my sake."

"I was trying. She wasn't."

"She doesn't mean to be confrontational. Sometimes she can't help herself."

"Why does she get a pass and I don't?" Fleur asked.

The answer, if Harry was being honest, was that he expected more from Fleur than he did Hermione. Hermione was intelligent and knowledgeable, but Fleur was more mature and socially adept. If anyone was going to be the bigger person when those two talked it would have to be her.

He didn't say that though. Instead he said, "Ron's been sulking ever since he got cut from the quidditch team."

"The quidditch team that you're no longer in charge of," Fleur said.

"I don't remember telling you that."

"Believe it or not, you're not the only person that I talk to, Harry."

"That's news to me." Harry paused. "I gave the captainship to Ginny."

"I know. She'll make a fine captain," Fleur said.

"You think so?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Of course. She has all of the important qualities. Blind overconfidence in her ability and the ability of her subordinates, rash decision making, and an abiding love for the game that blinds her to the truly important things that are happening around her."

"And here I thought you were paying her a compliment."

"I give her all the credit that she deserves," Fleur said. She finished her butterbeer.

"You're probably not going to like what I have to tell you, then," Harry said. In fact, he knew that Fleur wasn't going to like what he had to tell her. Ginny and Fleur mixed even worse than Fleur and Hermione.

"Tell me after we've left this place," Fleur responded. There was a drunkard standing on top of the bar, proclaiming that the end-days had arrived and they all had to surrender to the harbinger of the dark times. Madam Rosmerta was drawing her wand wearily and looked ready to remove the man if he didn't remove himself.

Once they were outside the Three Broomsticks Harry led Fleur on a rambling course around the village designed to give her a feel for what it was like. He told her to stop if she saw anything she wanted to go into.

"I will. And you need to tell me what this horrible secret of yours is," Fleur said.

"Ginny confronted me a while ago, admitting that she liked me. I know you said she's insincere, but I didn't get that sense from her," Harry said.

"I think I said something stronger than just insincere," Fleur said, but she gestured for Harry to continue.

"She seemed earnest and I like being around her so I agreed to go on a date with her." His words came out in a rush, like the effect would be blunted the less intelligible it was. "I'm not planning it, she is. I thought that I should tell you since you've been so open with me."

"I'm not quite sure what the point of being open with you was if you're going to completely disregard everything I had to say," Fleur said. She seemed troubled by what Harry was saying; her arms were folded across her chest and her eyes were lowered to the village's cobbled path.

"She doesn't seem anything like what you thought. I still don't understand what reason you have for disliking her so much."

"No reason beyond everything you and I have seen," Fleur retorted.

"I haven't seen anything that would make me suspicious," Harry said. He wasn't sure how true that was; it was more of a general feeling than an assessment of her behavior, but Fleur's fears seemed wildly overblown. Ginny was a fifteen year old girl.

"You may not but I have," Fleur said.

They walked in silence for a minute, neither sure of what to say next, before Fleur said, "I'm not trying to tell you how to live your life, Harry. You're free to do whatever you want. I just…thought I'd keep an eye out for you."

"She's just a teenage girl," Harry said. The idea of Ginny being a schemer became more laughable the more he thought about it. He didn't think Fleur would share his amusement.

"There's nothing more sinister than a teenage girl," Fleur said, but there was finally some levity to her words.

"I've been learning that," Harry agreed.

"I just hope that this goes better for you than your last relationship."

"Could it be worse? At least Ginny doesn't spend half her time crying."

"You certainly do an excellent job picking them. One girl who's constantly in tears and the other who's a ginger wolf in sheep's clothing."

"Maybe I should just have you pick my girlfriends."

"That would be the smart thing to do," Fleur said, nodding as if Harry had finally said something worth acknowledging.

They went into Dervish and Banges and Fleur continued to rib Harry about his incompetence with girls. She perused the store's selection of magical artifacts and seemed drawn to a particularly active Sneakoscope that was spinning wildly, the hinges holding it in place squeaking loudly enough that Harry had heard it before they even entered the store.

"I've never had one of these before. Mother wouldn't let me. She was convinced they would make me paranoid," Fleur said.

"My professor during the Triwizard Tournament had one."

"Didn't he turn out to be a patricidal Death Eater who had stolen a famous auror's face and locked him in a trunk?" Fleur asked.

"Yes."

Fleur moved away from the Sneakoscope. She looked to have lost her desire for anything in the store. They left a few minutes later to the disappointment of the store's owner who had sensed a sale.

"My big date with Ginny isn't the only interesting thing to happen recently," Harry teased.

"You lead an exciting life," Fleur said, without much enthusiasm.

Undeterred, Harry said, "I talked to Dumbledore. He said that he was pleased with how well the Dueling Club was running and told me that you have a job here for as long as you want one." Or as long as Dumbledore survived with that curse, Harry thought, though he didn't voice that particular qualification.

"That's an option," Fleur said. She didn't look as pleased as he had expected.

"I thought you liked teaching," Harry said, with a note of confusion.

"I do. But the Dueling Club isn't really teaching. Three times a week, for an hour or two, I help students learn how to fight and protect themselves. It isn't really teaching. I spend more time reading on my own every day than I do working. Dumbledore gave me what has to be the easiest job in all of Hogwarts. Filch spends more time working than I do. If I was to stay at Hogwarts I would have to be doing something; I can't spend my life wasting away in a castle by myself."

"You aren't alone," Harry objected.

"I have the occasional shallow conversation with other faculty when they aren't busy, which isn't often, but other than that I have nobody I'm close to here. Once you graduate I might as well be alone," Fleur said. "I need to find some way to fill my time."

"Maybe you could ask Dumbledore to increase your obligations, or even take over for Flitwick someday," Harry suggested.

"It could be years before Flitwick retires and I have no intention of filling my life with busy work until then."

If Fleur wanted something meaningful to fill her time with then perhaps Dumbledore's second request was exactly what she was looking for, Harry thought. Having only a dozen hours of work every week for the Dueling Club would leave her plenty of time to be an active member of the Order. And what work could be more meaningful than fighting against Voldemort?

"Dumbledore did mention something else," Harry began. "There's a group, The Order of the Phoenix, that's dedicated to fighting Voldemort. Dumbledore founded it. Most of the Weasleys, some of the teachers, and people who work in the ministry, are members. They do things that the ministry can't or won't do, in order to keep people safe.

"The idea is that Dumbledore knows what he's doing more than Fudge or Scrimgeour. Dumbledore asked me to sound you out, find out what you would think about joining. He thinks you have the talent and dedication to do well but he didn't want to ask you himself because he thought it would be presumptuous. He said that this country wasn't your home."

Fleur took a moment to respond before she said, "I may not love Britain, but it is my home now. And there's no greater threat than Voldemort. I'll talk to Dumbledore about his Order of the Phoenix. Do you know if Bill is a member?"

"I think he is but he's not all that active," Harry said.

"He never mentioned it to me," Fleur said. She seemed neither bothered nor surprised by her fiancé's secret.

"They do a lot of good," Harry said, a little uncomfortable with the idea he had told Fleur something Bill had never mentioned.

"You're a member?" Fleur asked.

"No, you have to be of age."

Fleur raised an eyebrow at that. "The one who's fought Voldemort on multiple occasions, saw his resurrection, led a forbidden training group and has more skill than most adult wizards isn't a member of the only organization dedicated solely to fighting him?"

Harry felt the need to defend Dumbledore. "They don't want anyone who isn't of age. It's too dangerous. If they let me join then they'd have to let Ron and Hermione join as well and they're worried that would set a bad precedent."

"They should be less concerned with precedent and more concerned with the war," Fleur said.

"It doesn't matter. I always end up in the thick of things anyway."

"Nobody could deny that. Well, I'll think about it. This would certainly give me something to do. It's foolish to think that Voldemort is a threat only to the British Isles. Was Gellert Grindelwald satisfied with Germany? Powerful men rarely achieve their goals and then rest peacefully for the remainder of their lives. If Voldemort isn't stopped in Britain then he'll have to be stopped on the continent."

"The Order will be glad to hear that," Harry said.

"Of course, this will give you someone on the inside willing to tell you everything that the Order is planning. I'm sure that thought never even crossed your mind."

For a moment, Harry thought about Sirius. He had always wanted to keep Harry in the loop, no matter what Dumbledore's orders were. Then he pushed the thought away. "Never," Harry said, adopting an innocent expression. "I'm offended the idea would even occur to you."

"Though the idea of spending more time with the Weasleys doesn't exactly appeal to me," Fleur admitted.

Harry supposed that it was too much to ask that Fleur would ever grow to genuinely like the Weasleys (other than Bill, of course). "They're good people fighting a war when most others are hiding their heads in the sand. Just give them time."

"You think that I'm too judgmental," Fleur accused.

"I think that we should always be aware of our prejudices when we're making decisions," Harry corrected.

"I hope, for your sake, that I am wrong. But I don't think that I am."

"You'll think about joining the Order then?" Harry asked, bringing the subject back into focus.

"It'll give me something to do," Fleur said, as if it was no great matter at all.

There was no doubt that Fleur would be a great asset for them. She was talented and charming. There were dozens of ways they would be able to utilize her. If she was committed to the cause then Dumbledore had just gained a valuable ally.

Their visit to Hogsmeade hadn't gone exactly as Harry had planned. The exchange between Hermione and Fleur combined with Harry's admission of interest in Ginny had given the trip a more combative feel than he had hoped for. Still, he thought, it was nice to get out of the castle. For all its beauty and mystique it could become stifling at times. Fleur seemed to like getting out into the open again as well.

"I think you're doing the right thing," Harry said.

"No doubt. This leaves me in a pole position to save your arse when you throw yourself headlong into some unimaginable danger," Fleur said.

"Now that you're there to save me I won't even think twice about throwing myself into those situations."

"Try not to get yourself killed until I arrive, at least. I would hate to have to find a new friend."

"You could try Ron. He's stopped stammering like a fool around you."

"And have Hermione even more upset with me than she is already? I think I'll avoid that. Finnegan has always struck me as a man who knows how to get things done."

Seamus had taken to sticking around after the conclusion of the Dueling Club sessions and talking to Fleur. Harry knew the other boy too well to assume that he just wanted to improve his spellwork.

"Careful, keep Seamus around too long and you might end up with more than a friend."

"From what I've seen most fruitful relationships start as friendships. None of mine have, but then again, almost none of my relationships have worked out." Fleur shrugged.

"Are you hinting at something?"

"Just keeping an eye on your friends."

"So I should be waiting for Ron and Hermione to jump into bed together is what you're telling me?"

"Yes, you should. The affection they have for each other is obvious; look past the surface and even you'll be able to see it."

"They haven't seemed that interested in each other since whatever happened between them on the train," Harry countered.

"Just the calm before the storm. The anticipation is building between them, growing to a crescendo, until they won't possibly be able to hold it back any longer. Love can't be bottled up or diverted; it's the worlds most single-minded and inescapable force."

"You see all and know all," Harry mocked.

"I'm only telling you what I see. If you'd rather close your eyes to the obvious and wait for the changes to hit you rather than adapting to them yourself then that's your prerogative," Fleur said.

They had completed another full circuit of the village. Fleur hadn't seemed interested in any of the shops. Harry had the impression that she would have gone into the bookstore if not for the likely presence of Ron and Hermione.

Other than that there was little to do in Hogsmeade. It was a village more notable for its quaint atmosphere than any specific attraction. Harry doubted that the town would exist if not for Hogwarts. The students and faculty were what pushed the towns little shops into the black.

"Time to head back?" Fleur asked.

"I think we've seen everything there is to see," Harry said.

They began the slow climb back to the castle. Fleur looked deep in thought. Harry didn't blame her. He had told her a lot during their time in Hogsmeade.

"It's good to have finally made a choice," she said, once they were nearing the gates.

"A choice?"

"To fight. Not just watch as this country gets torn apart."

"You've never struck me as someone capable of sitting on the sidelines," Harry said.

She rolled her eyes and gave him a slight shove in the ribs. "No, I guess not. I've made my choice. I'll join the Order. Voldemort will know my name before the end."

There was a slight ray of afternoon light hitting the path, glinting off of Fleur's hair, giving her face an imperial cast, like the statues of the English queens of old. Something stirred in him, a feeling terrifying in its depth and power. It couldn't be turned aside, but it could be ignored.

He hoped.

"I have no doubt about that," Harry said, giving Fleur a genuine smile.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter VII**

The common room was alight with fury and fear. Katie Bell had been cursed on her way back to Hogwarts after visiting Hogsmeade. A couple of students had found her body lying in the snow and had brought her back to the Hospital Wing. There were rumors being spread that she had been transferred to St. Mungo's because the curse was too potent for Madam Pomfrey to deal with.

Harry had already left Fleur and returned to the common room by the time he heard about Katie. Ron and Hermione had let him know as eyes turned to him expectantly, as if he would concoct some solution without a moment's hesitation.

"It's awful. Awful and senseless. I can't imagine who would have done something like that," Hermione said.

"Or why," Ron added.

"It's not as if Katie was a high profile target. She was just another student. A half-blood too. Not their usual target," Harry said.

"That just makes this even worse. It shows how unconcerned You-Know-Who is with attacking students," Hermione said.

There was a crowd of Gryffindors seething in the center of the common room, trading theories about how and why Katie had been cursed. Most were outlandish but what they all had in common was that someone from Slytherin was behind it. Harry wasn't looking forward to the next Dueling Club meeting. Putting dueling spells into the hands of angry teenagers may have been a necessity but that didn't make it smart.

"Do we know who found her?" Harry asked.

"Her friend Leanne got help for her," Hermione said.

"You want to look into this?" Ron asked.

"I'm sure Dumbledore is going to but it can't hurt to have a few more eyes on this. The more people looking into it the better," Harry told them.

Katie being cursed hit Harry especially hard. He liked her. She had been a fun and kind member of the quidditch team for as long as Harry had been on it. He couldn't say that he knew her all that well outside of quidditch but she was a good person. A Gryffindor. She didn't deserve what had happened to her. If there was anything he could do to figure out what had happened to her Harry would do it.

His first thought was of Malfoy. It would make sense. He was working for Voldemort, doing something inside the school, and Death Eaters had never been particularly concerned with the lives of those that opposed them. A half-blood Gryffindor certainly fell into that category.

Dumbledore would know more, no doubt, but Malfoy was the prime suspect as far as Harry was concerned. He would have to keep a closer eye on the other boy. Malfoy had been quiet for most of the year, making Harry even more suspicious than he already would have been. A quiet Death Eater was somehow more worrying than an obnoxious one.

"Incoming," Ron said.

Neville, Seamus, and a few younger Gryffindors were walking over to where they were sitting. Their eyes were fixed on Harry. Most of the common room was watching their approach, waiting for something. An idea of how to move forward.

"You've heard," Seamus said. It wasn't a question. Every Gryffindor had heard.

Harry nodded and saw the crowd muttering amongst themselves.

Neville stepped forward with an assertiveness that was, Harry thought, rather unlike him. Even considering the changes he had been going through. "We have to do something. Show that we're not weak. We won't stand to be attacked like that. People should be safe at Hogwarts."

There was a rumbling of agreement in the crowd.

"There's nothing we can do right now," Harry said, eyes shifting to each of the students confronting him.

"There is," Seamus disagreed. "We know who did this; let's not pretend we don't. It was the Slytherins. They're working for You-Know-Who. Maybe not all of them but they're there. Spies and enemies. Eating with us, taking classes with us, and laughing at us as we cower in the halls trying not to get cursed ourselves. From what I heard Katie got lucky. If she hadn't gotten to Madam Pomfrey so quickly then whatever had cursed her would have killed her. Who's to say that they'll stop with her? We need to show that we're strong; that we're willing to fight back."

"We can't fight back if we don't know who to fight against," Harry objected. He could see the crowd's mood turning against him. They wanted action, a show of strength; not reasoned debate.

"Like father like son," Neville said grimly.

"Crabbe. Goyle. Malfoy. Nott. Their parents are all Death Eaters. If we want to send a message we'll send it through them," Seamus said.

"That's what the Dueling Club is for, isn't it? To teach us how to protect ourselves?" Neville asked, somewhat rhetorically. It was like Neville was intentionally trying to stoke up the crowd, feed the resentment and fear that had just been waiting for a catalyst like Katie. That would make it difficult for Harry to go against them. There was a simmering rage there, directed against the Slytherins. The self-confidence that the Dueling Club had given Neville, and the rest of the Gryffindors, was being turned against the Slytherins.

"If we attack them for retribution this will only escalate. Voldemort will do more to hurt us than we can do to hurt them," Hermione said.

Ron nodded. "We might even end up hurting innocent people ourselves if we attack them. That's not something that Gryffindors do. Or have we all forgotten that?

"Gryffindors don't just sit back and let their friends get cursed either," one girl in the crowd shouted. There was a shout of approval from the rest of the Gryffindors.

Harry stood up. "We're not going to go around cursing innocent people because we're scared. Is that something Katie would want us to do? No. She would be ashamed to be in the same house as us if we did something like that. The difference between the Death Eaters and us is they don't care who they hurt. We do. Anyone here who goes around indiscriminately cursing Slytherins because they're frightened and angry is no real Gryffindor."

Gryffindor Tower quieted, the students considering what he said. There were a few abashed faces in the crowd. Harry knew it wouldn't last long though. Resentment couldn't be bottled forever. It needed an outlet, a way for people to feel like they were doing something to improve their conditions. Without that it was only a matter of time before they would strike out against the Slytherins.

"We can't just let them get away with this," Neville said, but his voice was weaker, less sure, and the crowd seemed to notice.

Harry sensed his advantage and pressed, an idea occurring to him. "And we won't. Tomorrow night the entire school is going to hold a vigil for Katie Bell, by the lake, and we aren't going to leave until every student and faculty and ghost is there with us, holding a candle in solidarity. We're going to show that this school is united against the threat we face."

"And who's going to get them there?" Seamus asked, more curious than disbelieving.

"I am. You are. Everyone here is." Harry said.

"For Katie," someone said. There was a general noise of assent, students murmuring Katie's name as if it was a charm to ward off evil. The two best things to get people together, Harry thought. Senseless violence and self-righteousness.

Seamus went away with the other students, apparently satisfied, but Neville wasn't placated. "It's a nice idea but it won't actually do anything," he said.

"It might, it might not. But anything is better than indiscriminate violence," Harry said.

Neville just shook his head, a frustrated look coming over his face, and left the common room.

"You're turning into a real activist, Harry," Hermione said, sounding amused.

Ron wore a more equivocal expression. "Neville may have been wrong about wanting to go around cursing people but he was right about one thing. This 'vigil' won't do anything. It's not going to slow You-Know-Who or any of his supporters down at all. They won't stop attacking people because we stand around protesting."

"Probably not," Harry said, trying not to let his annoyance with Ron show. "But I had to say something. Give them something to do. They were all looking to me to come up with something. They act like I'm some kind of messiah that can magically fix their problems."

Ron and Hermione looked at each other.

"Probably because you've been teaching them all how to fight for two years now."

"And because you've fought Voldemort three times."

"And because you're the Triwizard Champion."

"And because you showed them just how good you are when you dueled Fleur."

Harry waved his hand, as if to say that all of that was nothing. "I'm not a leader. I'm just trying to survive," he said.

"So are they," Hermione said.

"People need dramatic examples to look up to; I don't think you're a leader either mate, but you are an example," Ron said.

They looked at Harry like he had to be dense to not have figured that out, before turning back to each other and rolling their eyes. Harry figured the best way of dealing with them would be to ignore them.

"Well now I've got to figure out how to organize a school wide vigil for Katie," he complained.

"It won't be as hard as you're thinking," Hermione said. "Everyone who heard you will get the word out until, by tomorrow, it will have spread to the entire school. You're underestimating the Hogwarts rumor mill and how much people are frightened and upset by this. Most people will do anything to show their solidarity in times of crisis when they feel threatened."

"It may be stupid but you know we'll be there," Ron said, clapping Harry on the shoulder.

Harry was still getting stares from the people who were left in the common room. They were curious, but no longer bubbling with misguided anger. Now they had something to channel their anger into. It was a success, if only a limited one. The underlying problem was still there.

"Violence is the path of least resistance for fear and frustration. It's good that you're channeling it into something else," Hermione said.

"Did you two notice how Neville was behaving?" Harry asked.

Ron sat up in his chair, his bland expression giving way to clear interest. "It was like he was someone else. I've never seen Neville act like that before. I think the Dueling Club and the DA have worked wonders on him. He's never been so confident before. He was practically leading the common room."

"But not down the right path," Harry said.

"It is worrying," Hermione agreed.

"You know what happened to his parents. Can we blame him for wanting revenge for them? Even if he's not getting the ones who did it to his parents a Death Eater's a Death Eater," Ron said. His callousness toward the Slytherins worried Harry. He didn't seem affected by the idea of them being attacked at all. Harry wasn't sure whether that was just a manifestation of Ron's usual distaste for Slytherins or a more worrisome side effect of the general malaise that Harry had seen in him since the quidditch tryout.

"We're better than that," Hermione said firmly.

"Clearly not all of us," Ron retorted, though more mildly than before.

Harry interrupted them. "It doesn't matter now. Neville won't do anything without the backing of the rest of Gryffindor. He's not some vigilante. Now we just have to focus on getting the word about the vigil out so that people don't give up on us. If that happens, the Slytherins will be targeted next."

Ron wasn't willing to let the subject be. "Really though, who do we think did this? It had to be the Slytherins."

"Peter Pettigrew was a Gryffindor," Harry reminded him.

"And the rest of the Death Eaters weren't. It's just a matter of odds; even wizards can be logical sometimes," Ron said, aiming the last part more at Hermione than Harry.

Hermione didn't respond, unsure of how to deal with Ron's logic. To an extent, Harry agreed with him. He wasn't wrong. Slytherins comprised the vast majority of Voldemort's forces and, even if it hadn't been Malfoy, the perpetrator was likely someone from Slytherin. But, Harry reminded himself, that didn't mean that they could start blaming everyone in their house without evidence.

What they were fighting was, above all else, a war of ideas. It was pureblood vs muggleborn, tradition vs innovation, conservatives against progressives. If they stooped to the methods of the Death Eaters they would be legitimizing their tactics. It would send a signal to the rest of the wizarding world that they were no better than the Death Eaters.

That, in turn, would radicalize those who were on the fence about the war; sympathizers who, because of the methods of the Death Eaters, weren't willing to actively aid their cause. If one side no longer held the moral upper ground Harry suspected that Voldemort's ranks would swell, negating any possible advantage that could be gained from more draconian methods.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore. What's done is done. Tomorrow we'll hold the vigil. If that doesn't work and the rest of Gryffindor is still out for blood we can talk about this some more," Harry said.

"Fine with me," Ron said, getting up without further comment and heading up to their dorm room.

Hermione glanced over at Harry, looking worried, and said, "He's been acting like that for a while now. Usually he bounces back quickly. This time I'm pretty nervous."

"This has been going on since the quidditch tryout?" Harry asked.

"That was the start, I think, but it's more than that. What happened to his dad last year shook Ron. Every day his family is putting their lives at risk. That's not something we have to worry about. He spends every day frightened that he's going to lose them. His talking about odds is nothing new. He threw some numbers out from the last war a few nights ago. He said that there was almost no chance that if his family fought against Voldemort that they would all survive. That it was just a matter of who died."

"None of the Weasleys are going to die. Not if I have anything to do about it." Harry felt the hollowness of his own words. It wasn't like he could be with the Weasleys while they were going on missions, or even just going about their daily business. He hadn't been able to protect Sirius, or Cedric, or even Katie. Maybe Ron was right to worry, he thought.

Hermione picked up on his self-doubt and said, gently, "He's not wrong, Harry. We're here, in school, trying our best to learn and get better so that we can, one day, fight against Voldemort, but there are dozens of witches and wizards out there who could swat us aside without a second thought. At Hogwarts you're a hero; out there you're just another wand. The world is dangerous and people get hurt all the time. Ron isn't wrong about that, no matter how much we might want him to be."

The idea of any of the Weasleys, who had treated Harry like one of their own, dying in the course of the war, had never even occurred to Harry. Even after what had happened to Mr. Weasley he had never seriously considered that they might die. Losing Sirius was bad enough. He had only had a year with his godfather but he had grown to love him. Losing any of the Weasleys would be just as awful; like losing a sibling or a parent, he imagined.

"What can we do?" Harry asked.

Hermione shrugged. For once, she too was out of ideas. "All we can do is be there for him, to make sure he doesn't dwell on it too much. He's been spending a lot of time studying lately. Trying to get stronger. You don't see him in the Dueling Club because you're working with the younger students but he's improved a lot."

"I'll keep an eye on him," Harry promised.

"Good. That's all we can do right now. He needs to know that we're here for him," Hermione said.

The common room had cleared out somewhat while they had been talking so Harry noticed Ginny's entrance. She looked around the room for a moment, as if she was trying to find someone, until her eyes landed on Harry and she smiled.

Hermione saw where Harry was looking. She said, "Looks like Ron's not the only Weasley that needs comforting. I'm going to start on our Transfiguration essay." She got up and went to the girls dormitory.

Not for the first time Harry wondered exactly how much Hermione knew about his relationship with Ginny. The two of them were fairly close, roomed together when Hermione visited the Weasleys, and it wouldn't surprise Harry if she had been slipping Ginny advice. It would fit with Hermione's meddling personality as well; perhaps helping to assuage her guilt over drifting closer to Ron and feeling like she had left him alone.

"I've been looking for you," Ginny said, sitting down on a chair opposite Harry. She pulled it forward so that their knees were almost touching, then drew her legs up and under herself.

Her hair was a bit mussed, falling haphazardly around her ears, and, noticing where Harry's eyes were drifting, Ginny brushed her hands through her hair, straightening it and pushing it back behind her ears. Her cheeks reddened and Harry resisted the urge to smile at her, fearing it might be seen as mocking.

"You missed a bit of a scene here," he said instead.

"I'm sure my dorm mates will tell me all about it," Ginny said, her focus clearly on something else.

"Then what can I help you with?" Harry asked, trying not to sound as if he were hurrying her.

"I broke up with Dean," she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth in one great burst, as if it marked a new epoch.

Harry's reaction was more guarded. "How did he take it?"

"Pretty well. Said he had fun but he could tell that we weren't too serious and he wished me well. Didn't seem heartbroken at all to tell you the truth. It was almost a little offensive," she joked.

"I don't think that we should be seen together right after you broke up with Dean. It might seem…insensitive," Harry said.

"You don't have to worry about that. I think our date will be quite private," Ginny flirted.

"You still haven't told me what to expect."

"And I'm not going to. Telling you would spoil the surprise. On Saturday I'm going to take you somewhere very special, that I promise you've never seen before, and our date is going to blow your mind."

"I've seen some incredible things," Harry said. "You might find me harder to impress than you think."

"When the time comes you'll know I mean exactly what I say," Ginny said.

She didn't seem inclined to reveal any more to Harry. She was getting a lot of enjoyment out of holding the date over his head, trying to make him curious about where she was going to take him. Harry wasn't sure if he should be frustrated with her coquettishness or just curious about where she could possibly take him.

It had to be somewhere in Hogwarts. The next weekend wasn't a Hogsmeade weekend. Unless she was going to try to sneak him out of the castle. That would certainly fit with her personality.

"You're going to have to find someone to replace Katie," Harry said. There was nothing further to say about their date, unless he wanted to let her tease him about it endlessly.

Since Ginny had taken over the quidditch team from him she had been driving her squad relentlessly. It wasn't quite as intense as Wood's training sessions had been but for a fifth year in her first few weeks of the captainship it was a grueling regiment. Harry suspected that a few of the new members would be close to regretting joining.

"That's the awkward part," Ginny said, playing with her hair nervously. "Dean is the next best chaser."

Harry couldn't help but to laugh at that. There were few things more awkward than interacting with one's ex. Harry still avoided Cho whenever he could help it. To have Dean on the quidditch team would be a constant irritant for Ginny. Though he supposed that it helped that their parting had been amicable.

"It could be worse," Ginny said philosophically.

"Sure. You could've been dating McLaggen."

"Don't even joke."

"I've heard that some girls find him quite attractive."

"Sure, if you like dumb, big, and arrogant."

"I thought that's what all girls went crazy over."

"Now that you mention it you're right. Makes me wonder why I even bothered to ask you out."

"I thought that I asked you out."

"It was a mutual decision?"

"Good enough for me," Harry said.

There was a moment that bordered on the tender where Ginny just stared at Harry, her head half-cocked, a light smile playing over her face, like he had just done something exceptionally charming. With the fire behind her, framing her hair, Harry thought she had never looked prettier.

"With the way the girls in Gryffindor have started talking about you I'm going to have to beat them off with a stick," Ginny said.

"Or the Bat-Bogey Hex," Harry suggested.

"The school might frown on me using magic to hex my dorm mates."

"They won't care if you hit them with a stick?"

"I doubt it. That's far too muggle to get Filch or McGonagall excited."

"I'll keep that in mind for future reference."

Ginny's head returned to a more normal position, blocking most of the direct light from the fire, ending her halo. She bit her bottom lip, not in a seductive way, but in the way someone has when they're about to ask something that they think is a sensitive topic.

"You and Fleur are pretty close, right?" Ginny asked.

"I think so. Does that bother you?" Harry asked. A warning note played in his head; he had heard of, but never seen, the famous green eyed monster that the twins had always warned him was just lurking beneath the surface of most women. Admittedly, he doubted that they had been thinking of their little sister when they told him that but the point remained.

"I'm just a little confused and I wanted to see if you could clear it up. She and Bill are getting married soon, just got engaged, and yet they're across the world from each other and don't do anything but exchange letters every now and again. I wrote to Bill asking him about them and he didn't seem to think anything is wrong with that. I know Bill can be oblivious but Fleur isn't. Has she said anything to you? I don't think that Bill is trying to neglect her. He's madly in love with her. He's just…spacy."

"She hasn't said anything to me. You think she's unhappy?"

"I think she's probably lonely and upset that Bill isn't making more of an effort to be with her. She hasn't known him all that long so she probably doesn't get that this is just how he is. It doesn't mean anything except that he's focused on something else. He's the most single-minded person that I know. I wanted to make sure that she wasn't taking out her frustration about Bill on someone else, or doing something that she would regret," Ginny said, seeming to pick her words with great care. More cautiously than he had ever seen before, in fact.

"Do something she would regret? Like what?" Harry asked.

Ginny hesitated, as if afraid to voice her thoughts. "She's beautiful, lonely, and feels neglected. I'm not trying to imply anything. I just wanted to make sure that her engagement with Bill is still on and nothing's going to get in the way."

What Ginny was alluding to struck Harry and he couldn't keep the surprise off of his face. The idea of him betraying Bill with Fleur was just wrong. Yes, he and Fleur were friends; he was closer to her than anyone else in Britain in all likelihood. Yes, she was lonely and possibly feeling neglected. Yes, she was beautiful and intelligent and talented and dauntless. But going from that to a relationship between the two of them was ridiculous. It would be a betrayal of not just Bill, but Ginny, and all of the Weasleys.

Harry would be lying if he had never thought about it before. Sometimes he couldn't stop thinking about the night he saw her nearly naked. She was beautiful and he got along with her better than almost anyone else he knew.

However, there was a vast difference between thinking about a beautiful woman and actually pursuing her. Harry hadn't, to his knowledge, ever done anything around her that would suggest that he was interested in her. There were always thoughts, especially when she had unintentionally tested his restraint after they had been drinking. He had fantasized about her, he couldn't deny that either. But those didn't total up to a relationship; to her cheating on Bill with him.

There was also no real indication that Fleur felt like that about Harry. She teased him, and they got along well, and she was comfortable around him, but that's what friendship was like. Fleur was just naturally less uptight than someone like Hermione, looser. French.

Harry thought back over all of their encounters, searching for something that would indicate some desire on Fleur's part, but he couldn't find anything. For some reason, that left him feeling almost disappointed, as if he had been hoping that once he cast his mind back the clues would all lock into place and he would realize that he had been completely oblivious at the time.

"No, of course not. Nothing like that is going on," Harry said, aware that the pause had been dragging on for an uncomfortably long time.

"I didn't think so," Ginny said, hurrying to reassure him. "I was just worrying about my family."

"I can talk to her about Bill if you want. Did he ask you to find out?" Harry asked.

"You don't have to do that. He's too dense to even see that she would be upset. I don't want to worry him. If she hasn't told you anything then she's probably not that upset. You're probably her closest friend here, after all. Bill will be back for Christmas. It's only another month until they're reunited. I'm sure things will hold until then."

What he had told her seemed to have satisfied Ginny but left Harry with more questions about his relationship with Fleur than ever before. Did they act like there was something between them that would make Ginny think there was something there? Harry didn't think that he had given off any such impression but he couldn't be sure. Doubt crept in. It was hard, with any beautiful woman, to keep friendship separate from physical attraction, but Harry felt that he had been enjoying Fleur's company for her talents and personality instead of any superficial crush. Her beauty was a bonus, not the reason behind their friendship.

"Anyway, I should probably go and get some homework done. I don't want to be swamped before our date," Ginny said. She looked as if she was going to lean in and give him a quick kiss but thought better of it. The common room wasn't exactly private. Instead she just gave him a quick smile and went upstairs to the girl's dormitory.

Harry was left sitting in a chair by the fireside, wondering when he had been dubbed the de facto leader of Gryffindor, how he was going to marshal the school, what his date with Ginny would be like, and, the thought that, for whatever reason, seemed most important; whether or not there was some spark between him and Fleur.

He pulled his transfiguration textbook out of his pack and tried push his mind away from brilliant blue eyes.

* * *

"I still think that book is dangerous," Hermione said.

"There's no hidden brain, Hermione. Just some notes in the margins," Ron said, bored. They had been having the same argument for the past couple of weeks. Or rather, Hermione had been lecturing Ron that he shouldn't be using the Half-Blood Prince's potion's textbook and Ron had been ignoring her.

The book was rather inoffensive in Harry's opinion. It didn't write back if you wrote in it, didn't smell awful, and helped both Ron and Harry in what was usually their worst class. Ron shared the book with Harry when they were working on group potions and their class ranking in Potions had inverted itself because of that. Sometimes Harry wondered if Hermione wasn't just jealous because of their undeserved success. Ron was Slughorn's favorite protégé after Harry. In a way, neither of them deserved the praise they received from him.

Slughorn had already invited the two of them to his next party, which would be in early December, more than a month away. He said that he wanted them to have more than enough time to find dates and had given them an exaggerated wink.

Harry supposed that if their date went well he should ask Ginny. Nobody else came to mind. Most of the girls of Hogwarts were a complete mystery to him. Though Ginny was likely to receive an invitation of her own to Slughorn's party. Slughorn had mentioned to Ron in passing that she had made quite an impression on the guests at the last party.

Hermione was still nattering away at Ron about the book. Harry just hoped that she wouldn't set off Madam Pince, who had seemed even more on edge than usual, likely because of the attack on Katie. It was like she expected someone to start flinging curses around the library. Rather uncharitably, Harry wondered if she would be more concerned with the students or the books.

"Just be careful; don't trust everything you read in there," Hermione said.

"I will be," Ron promised, somewhat less exasperated than Harry had expected. Hermione and Ron shared a look for a brief moment, expressions somewhere between confused and indecipherable, and then Hermione turned away, digging through the plethora of books in her bag. She didn't resurface for nearly a minute.

Since Fleur had suggested that there was a tension between Ron and Hermione that would inevitably break and lead to a relationship, Harry had been watching the two of them more attentively than usual. There were signs that Fleur was right; stolen glances, lingering touches, and a more accommodating behavior than either of them usually adopted. They were dancing around the issue but it was there, some attraction, buried and unacknowledged. Or perhaps acknowledged but suppressed, like a desire too perverse to be named.

Everyone seemed to be pairing off, Harry thought. Ron and Hermione. He and Ginny. Fleur and Bill. The simple time of unromantic friendships was passing them by. Thanks to Fleur, or because of her, Harry was watching his two friends fall for each other, ending the uncomplicated friendship that the three of them had enjoyed for years. He hoped they would be happy, thought they could be successful together, but was couldn't shake the slight sadness that change brought.

It wasn't just their relationships that were changing. They, as people, were changing too. Ron, who had always been less than serious about his studies, had started to pull his grades up to a level that even Hermione could appreciate. He was putting in more time training at the Dueling Club than almost anyone else, except maybe Neville and Harry himself. Ron had been infected with the bug of self-improvement.

Harry suspected that it went back to what Hermione had told him. Ron was worried about losing his family, and was willing to do whatever it took to keep them alive. His fear was changing him into something else; a fighter. Some of his easygoing nature had gone with his transformation. Smiles and laughs didn't come as easily.

Ron's changes were the most dramatic but Harry saw something similar happening with Hermione as well. Her studying had taken a more extra-curricular bent; she wasn't aiming for absolute mastery of the spells and skills they were learning in class but rather focusing on things that she thought would be helpful to them during a war. Locating spells, healing charms, versatile potions, and quick transfigurations. All things that would be useful in a prolonged duel of the sort they had encountered at the ministry. All things that would be useful for survival.

None of them were blind to the real war that was being fought outside of the gates of Hogwarts. They couldn't join it yet, but they would be prepared when they could.

The training that Harry had been having with Fleur and the books that Dumbledore had given him had allowed Harry to improve in leaps and bounds. His arsenal of spells had precipitously, and the spells in Dumbledore's books were far more potent than what he was accustomed to. A number of them were dangerous to the user after prolonged usage, like the one he had used against Fleur, but Harry consoled himself with the thought that it was better to know them and never need to use them, than to ignore them and find himself in dire need of them.

While he knew he wouldn't stand a chance against Voldemort he was willing to give himself good odds against the average Death Eater. Fleur's advantage over him in duels was slipping; she struggled to beat him and occasionally Harry was able to pull a win himself.

Every victory brought with it a mix of grumbling and praise from Fleur. She didn't know about the books that Dumbledore had given him so it seemed she attributed most of his progress to her own teaching abilities.

"For enemies," Ron said, reading something out of the potions book.

"For enemies?" Hermione sounded worried.

"There's a spell incantation here, no wand movement listed, and all the note says is 'For enemies.'"

"Sounds like something we should cast on Malfoy. You know, just to test it out," Harry said, rolling his eyes in Ron's direction when Hermione rose up, affronted.

"You two can't honestly be thinking of using the spell," Hermione said, her voice rising with unrestrained disbelief. A few people at a nearby table shot her dirty looks but she didn't notice.

"Whoever made the notes in this book is a genius. They're going to get me an Outstanding in Potions. I'd be lucky to scrape an Acceptable without it. Can you imagine how impressive the spell must be if it's even half as good as the potions notes?" Ron sounded excited at the prospect of seeing the Half-Blood Prince's handiwork in action. A good Potions grade was one thing but a cool spell was worth failing for.

"He's right. This spell could be incredible; one that nobody will see coming. We should at least try it out. We can use it in the Dueling Club room. Nobody'll be in there right now and we can try it out on a dummy. In a controlled setting. With supervision," Harry said, dangling the caveats in front of Hermione.

"It could be dark magic," Hermione said.

"It could be a shield to the Killing Curse. At this point I'd believe this guy could come up with anything," Ron said.

"You have to let Harry and I with you when you cast the spell. And in a controlled setting," Hermione said. She didn't seem pleased but Harry suspected she knew Ron well enough to know that the spell was going to be used at some point. Better somewhere it could be controlled if something went wrong.

They packed up their books and went to the Dueling Club room. It was, as Harry had predicted, empty.

The three of them lined up in front of one of the dummies and Ron glanced down again at the potions book. " _Sectumsempra_ ," he said, practicing the pronunciation.

"Strange incantation," Harry said.

"Very hissy," Ron agreed.

"Just get on with it," Hermione said. She was gripping her wand, a few books on counter-spells strewn on the floor around her. At least one of them was prepared for the worst, Harry thought.

Ron took his wand out of his pocket, set the Potions book on the ground, and aimed at the dummy. " _Sectumsempra_."

A jagged white line slashed the dummy, cutting ragged wounds into its hide. They ran deep, not cutting all the way through, but the depth of the wounds was uniform, as if the spell wasn't intended to cut all the way through. As if it was meant to cause just enough damage to be mortal, but not enough to be instantaneous.

Unlike with what happened after the dummy sustained normal spell damage it didn't start to fix itself. The wound started to close over but then the magic sputtered out and it was left with the same jagged wounds.

"Dark magic," Hermione said, not able to keep a triumphant note from entering her voice.

"Nothing ambiguous about that," Harry said. He got closer to the dummy and stuck one finger into the wound. It ran even deeper than he had expected, and that was on Ron's first casting. Harry knew few spells that did so much damage. And none that could be cast with so little practice and effort.

Ron looked shocked at what the spell had done. He glanced down at the Half-Blood Prince's potion's book as if it had betrayed him. "I didn't think it would do anything like that," he said.

"For enemies," Hermione repeated ominously.

"Are there any other spells like that in the book?" Harry asked.

Ron hesitated, then said, "There are a few other spells in the book but they don't do anything like that."

"And how, exactly, do you know that?" Hermione asked, her voice low and dangerous.

"You didn't," Harry said, shaking his head.

"I tried one out earlier on one of my dueling partners. _Levicorpus_. All it did was lift her into the air by an ankle," Ron said, sounding sickened.

"That may be the stupidest thing you've ever done," Hermione said.

Harry didn't disagree with her but he wasn't going to make Ron feel any worse. Apparently the book did have a darker side. Not the same league as Riddle's diary but it wasn't quite so benevolent as Harry and Ron had believed. Potions hadn't been the Half-Blood Prince's only hobby. Hermione had been right.

"I think that, from now on, as a general rule, we shouldn't cast any spells that come from strange books," Harry said. For a moment he thought about the books that Dumbledore had given him but then he dismissed them. They weren't strange books. Dumbledore wasn't the type to give Harry dark magic and tell him to learn it. Especially without even so much as a warning.

"Agreed," Ron said.

"At least we only ruined a dummy," Hermione said.

Harry groaned. Ron and Hermione turned to him. "We ruined a dummy. Fleur's going to kill me."

Ron started making a sound that sounded suspiciously like a whipping noise. Hermione just laughed at him.

"Maybe she won't notice," Harry said.

A pile of stuffing dropped from the dummy onto the floor. It creaked for a moment, then toppled on its side.

Harry sighed.

* * *

Word about the vigil for Katie had spread throughout the school like a virus. Harry had only told a few people about it but despite that the school was buzzing. Hufflepuff and Gryffindor were solidly behind Katie. Numerous students had come up to Harry promising to be at the vigil or telling him what a good idea they thought it was.

The Ravenclaws were more ambivalent. Harry hadn't expected them to be as excited. It wasn't, strictly speaking, a pragmatic response to what happened to Katie. It would be harder to galvanize them than the more emotional Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors.

The least enthusiastic were, as expected, the Slytherins. Most of them seemed utterly uninterested in any vigil, reasoning that she wasn't dead and a vigil would do nothing for her. Some of them found the very idea worthy of their contempt. The idea of respecting a schoolmate who was incapacitated in the hospital didn't seem to register with them.

Harry had chosen the side of the lake for the vigil. There was mystique to it, a sense of the ancientness and immovability of it that was soothing in times of turmoil. The water was still, rippling only occasionally as some creature broke the surface and then descended again. The bright moon wasn't enough to cut through the murky surface, leaving the lake a black hole, sucking light in but utterly mysterious to those looking upon it, hoping to find some answers.

The light from Hogwarts illuminated Fleur walking down by the side of the lake, a thick cloak wound tightly around her. Harry paused his conjuring. His candles were nothing special to look at, being crude thick stubs of white wax, but they would do their job. Having never been to a vigil before, Harry was really only guessing at what would be appropriate.

"You look like you could use some help," Fleur said.

"I need to conjure a couple hundred candles," Harry said.

"You really don't do things by halves, do you?"

"This wasn't intentional. It just…happened."

"A word to the wise, Harry; never let people know that the things that happen to you weren't planned. You're much more intriguing if people think you're always in control. Just look at Dumbledore," Fleur said.

"Dumbledore _is_ always in control," Harry retorted.

"Of course he is," Fleur said, giving him an embellished wink. She began conjuring long white candles with paper skirts to protect hands from dripping wax. Her candles had spiraling patterns on them, no two quite the same. Compared to Harry's, hers were art.

She glanced over at the pile that he had made. Delicately, she said, "Perhaps let me handle the candles and you start on something else."

"I don't think there's really anything else to do."

"Just let me handle the candles, Harry. Yours are absolutely abominable."

Shrugging, Harry sat down on the dry ground. Fleur had a look of concentration on her face as she produced the candles, flicking her wand every now and then to stack them like pyramids at strategic positions around the lake. It was already more than Harry had ever thought about doing.

While she worked Fleur was humming a tune to herself, something that sounded like a lullaby. Combined with the light of the moon and the dark lake, the lullaby was almost enough to put Harry to sleep. He entered a half-awake state where time seemed to alternatively jerk, wiggle, and run. Minutes felt like hours and an hour was just a second.

He couldn't have said when Fleur joined him on the ground. Hundreds of candles were piled on the ground, each exquisite and unique. A ring of them were embedded in the ground around the lake, burning solidly without dripping wax or diminishing in any way. Tendrils of light reached across the lake, meeting in the middle, forming an intricate, unbroken spider-web of shadow and light.

Fleur's humming had finished, bringing him out of whatever fugue state he had entered. They sat together, staring at the lake, waiting for the first of the students to arrive.

Ron and Hermione joined the two of them by the lake, the first to arrive. Leanne, Katie's friend, joined soon after.

Fleur touched the tip of her wand to some candles, lighting them, and handed one out to Leanne, Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Then she took one herself.

The grounds would have been bright even without any other lights. Hogwarts glowed a cheerful yellow, matching the flickering of their candles. Harry could see their distorted reflection on the lake shimmering unnaturally.

"You're doing a good thing," Fleur whispered in his ear. Her breath fluttered against him, warm and pleasant, and sent a shiver down his spine. He didn't respond, trying not to think about how her breath made him feel or what Ginny had said to him.

Students trickled down from the castle, then started coming in great clumps, dozens at a time. Candles were passed through the crowd, the elaborate pyramid stacks dwindling and finally disappearing. The grounds were lit up as students held their candles to the sky. Despite the gathered crowd the grounds were silent. Every face was solemn.

The students began to spread around the circumference of the lake, seeming to set it ablaze with the reflected light from hundreds of candles. Nobody said a word. There was a sense of gravity in the air. Leanne stood stoically next to Harry, her eyes bright, focused on the lake, not even seeming to acknowledge the crowd. She was buried in her own thoughts and Harry didn't think that she would care if five or five hundred showed up.

There were no Gryffindors or Hufflepuffs missing from the lakeside vigil. Many of the Ravenclaws and even a congregation of Slytherins joined the vigil, silently accepting the lit candles.

The crowd continued to swell as the night wore on. Though he wasn't sure, Harry felt as if some of the fugue state from earlier was still working on him, distorting his sense of time. He couldn't have even hazarded a guess as to how long they had been there. From the looks on the faces around him he wasn't the only one.

At some point Leanne had started crying. Her crying was silent and proud; she wasn't shaking or moaning. Rather, her tears were dignified signs of appreciation for the support being shown. Harry put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it briefly, before letting it drop. She nodded back at him, her expression conveying gratitude where words would have failed.

From the castle came a group of professors and staff: Dumbledore. McGonagall. Flitwick. Sprout. Pomfrey. Sinistra. Hagrid. Slughorn. Even Snape. They all soberly accepted candles from Fleur and joined the growing circle around the lake. Dumbledore took up a position next to Harry, not looking at him, focusing on the lake with the same intensity as everyone else.

They stood in silence and the night waxed and waned. None broke from the circle. There were stoic and saddened faces. Most of the school had turned out for Katie.

"Say something," Fleur whispered to Harry.

He raised his eyebrows at her but she just pushed him forward to the front of the line around the lake, then aimed her wand at him and cast the Amplifying Charm. His startled gasp was magnified around the lake, drawing the attention of the congregation. Harry glared back at Fleur but she just smiled innocently.

He cleared his throat, then started hesitantly. "We're here tonight in a show of solidarity for Katie Bell, who was senselessly and cruelly attacked on her way back from Hogsmeade yesterday." Harry paused, thinking of where to go next. The crowd didn't rush him, or give any impression of restlessness.

"When I first joined the quidditch team, I hardly even knew what the rules of the game were. I had no idea what I was doing. Katie took me aside after the end of the first practice and asked me if I wanted help. She stayed with me for hours, teaching me things that most people here knew as children. Rules, terms, moves, anything I needed help with. No matter how idiotic my question was Katie never got annoyed or impatient."

There were a handful of nodding heads and rueful smiles around the lake, as if people were remembering their own interactions with Katie.

"Katie was like that with everyone. She was cheerful, kind, and self-sacrificing. But...that didn't matter to Voldemort. Or maybe it did, and that's why he chose her."

There was no wind. The candles were still. The grounds seemed to Harry to be holding their breath. Everyone around the lake had their full attention on him; he looked out and saw dozens of faces he knew and dozens he didn't and could only hope that he didn't sound like a bumbling ass.

He continued, less assured then before. "It just seems like…every time I meet someone who's just a genuinely good person, Voldemort does everything he can to destroy them. He did that to all the people who were petrified in my second year. He did that to Cedric last year. And he tried to do that to Katie. I don't have any answers. I'm not smart enough to outthink Voldemort, or strong enough to fight him directly, but I don't think that means I'm powerless, or that anyone here is."

"If I'm being honest with you, I've always thought that the only way we could lose is if we give up. People always act as if I've done something special, as if being the Boy-Who-Lived means something, but it doesn't. I'm not stronger than anyone, I'm not braver, and I'm definitely not smarter. The only thing I can say about myself, the only thing I take any pride in, is that I won't ever give up. And…I think that's what frightens Voldemort the most. Because he knows that no matter how many times he tries to take away the best of us, like Katie, and like Cedric, the rest of us will never give up. He knows that, and that's why we frighten him. That's, well, that's why he does this to us. It's just him trying to make us give up."

Nobody spoke, moved, or even dared to breathe. A hush settled over the assembled crowd. Harry felt his heart drop, sure that he had just made an ass of himself, that his words had done nothing but made him out as a sententious fool.

Dumbledore made his way through the crowd to Harry. His eyes were lively, reflecting the light of the candle, seeming to have depths that Harry could never even hope to understand. He draped a companionable arm over Harry's shoulder and guided him softly away from the crowd toward the path back to the castle.

Fleur, Ron, and Hermione fell in step behind them. The faculty followed soon after, and Harry soon heard the entire school shifting, following, and talking amongst themselves quietly.

Their vigil was ended.

"Powerful words, Harry," Dumbledore said.

"I sounded like an idiot," Harry said, his face burning with shame. He was going to get Fleur back for that. Somehow.

"No. You sounded like a man trying to make sense of a cruel world. Your words were kind and true, and that's why they resonated with everyone who heard them. I think, when the time comes, those who would have otherwise stayed out of the fight, or cowered when their help was needed most, will remember your words. They will not give up." Dumbledore said.

He let his arm drop from Harry's shoulder and split off, moving a respectable distance away, making room for Ron, Hermione, and Fleur to crowd him.

"When's the campaign starting?" Ron asked.

"Campaign?"

"I just assumed you were running for Minister of Magic with a speech like that," Ron said. Harry refrained from swatting at him only because he had a feeling that there were eyes on them.

"I thought it was very moving," Hermione said. "Leanne was crying."

"You spoke well, Harry," Fleur said. She sounded as sincere as Harry had ever known her to be. Her words lit something in him that Ron and Hermione's, even Dumbledore's, hadn't been able to.

"We'll have to see if it actually does anything," Harry said.

Fleur smiled at him and said, "I have a feeling that it will. You're getting quite a reputation around here. Basilisk slayer, chief enemy of Voldemort, teacher to the young and hero to the downtrodden. A speech like that means more coming from you than it would from anyone else."

The sound of the crowd grew more and more as they got farther away from the lake. The unearthly seriousness that had struck the assembled students silent diminished in power. It was the same sense that one got from watching a tragedy unfold on stage, and then leaving and allowing it to fade into memory. Harry just hoped that people would remember it; that it would compel the frightened and apathetic to action when their help was most needed.

"It looked like the entire school was out there," Ron said.

"Most. Not all," Fleur said. There was a shared sense that those who hadn't bothered to show up were, almost without a doubt, enemies. It was tantamount to saying that they weren't a part of Hogwarts. That what happened there didn't matter to them.

Harry hadn't seen Malfoy there.

"It was a good idea. I think it calmed down the angriest students and agitated the indifferent ones," Hermione said.

"We can't let anyone else get hurt at Hogwarts. This is the one safe place left in Britain," Harry said.

"We've got the Dueling Club. We're still going to teach them how to protect themselves, aren't we?" Ron asked.

"Yes. Yes we are," Harry said, a slow-burning fire lighting in his voice.

 **AN: Sorry for the wait. Things got busy but they're settled down now and I hope to resume a more normal updating schedule. I'm not happy with this chapter but it has edged into tolerable territory only due to the uncomplaining editing work of the good people over at DLP.**


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: A huge debt is owed to DLP for this chapter. They saved it from itself (and me).**

 **Chapter VIII**

The students at Hogwarts had gone through many attitudes toward Harry in his time there. Fear, anger, mistrust, awe, pity; he had given up on expecting any sort of consistency out of them. After the speech he gave at the vigil for Katie there was a palpable sense of respect when the other students talked to him. Ones he didn't know, and even students he knew well, seemed to see him less as an equal than someone above them; they treated him like they would a teacher.

The attitude didn't seem to be fading over time either. By the time Harry's date with Ginny came around people were still treating him differently. Ron had remarked that if ever there was a time to topple Dumbledore and become headmaster it would be now.

However, not all of the students reacted well to Harry's impromptu speech. A fair number of Slytherins could be seen grumbling about it on the hallways, though not too loudly. Fear of reprisal by the rest of the school kept them subdued.

There was even a faction in Gryffindor, led by Neville of all people, which was urging for more serious retaliation. He had come up to Harry after the vigil and said that while the speech was nice and the gathering moving, it didn't actually change anything. Gryffindors needed to show that they wouldn't be pushed around, that they weren't weak. Harry hadn't realized how much he had just expected Neville to agree with him, to support him, and until Neville started showing some initiative on his own. Initiative in the opposite direction of his own.

Often Harry would enter the common room and there would be a group of people around Neville, listening to him talk, and they become muted when Harry walked by. While Harry was happy that Neville was more confident, had more opinions of his own, he couldn't help but be frustrated that the first time Neville exerted his new independence it would be against him.

Despite that, most reactions had been good. The Dueling Club meetings that had been held after the vigil had been much more intense than they usually were; jokes were less frequent and the focus displayed by everyone, even the younger students, was remarkable. They learned as much in one meeting as they had previously learned in two.

Fleur was so pleased that by the end of the week she had split them up into large scale duels—where two older students and two younger students, a group of four, would pair off against another group—in the hopes that it would somewhat simulate realistic dueling conditions. Emulating the chaos and fear of a real duel was, Harry knew, all but impossible at Hogwarts. The best they could do was to give their students the tools they needed to succeed. The rest would be up to them.

Harry's date with Ginny came around on a Saturday and Ginny had told Harry to meet her by the entrance to the dungeons. Harry hoped that their date wouldn't be in the dungeons. He couldn't think of many places less pleasant, especially for a date.

As he was on his way to the dungeons, Harry fell in behind Malfoy. At first the other boy ignored him, seemingly content to think that Harry would peel off wherever he was going without the need for acknowledgement, but when they began to approach the dungeons Malfoy became more suspicious.

Turning around, his hand in his wand pocket, Malfoy said, "Following me, Potter?"

There was an erratic quality to Malfoy; he seemed almost twitchy, as if anything would set him off. It was at odds with the collected and snobby boy that Harry was used to. He decided to approach the situation carefully, wary of doing anything that would set Malfoy off.

"No, just walking," Harry said. He shrugged nonchalantly, as if he was surprised that Malfoy had even bothered to comment.

"This is about your lakeside cry session, is it?" Malfoy asked.

"One of our classmates was attacked. We were showing that we are, as a school, united," Harry said, trying to warn Malfoy off with his tone. He wasn't looking for a fight but he wouldn't let Malfoy callously brush off what had happened to Katie like that. Especially with the suspciions that he had about Malfoy's role in the attack.

If Malfoy recognized the rising danger on Harry's expression he didn't show it. He laughed, short and mockingly. "But that's the thing, Potter. You're not united. Not this country, not this school, not even your own house. We're all surrounded, on every side, by enemies, by people who want to hurt us. I'm no exception to that and neither are you. When you gave your little speech you were just giving these people false hope. This is a war. It's going to be nothing but violent and deadly. Both sides will kill; you can't escape form that. You can dress that up however you like but that's the truth."

Taunting behavior was one thing from Malfoy. But this? He was as good as admitting that he and Harry were on opposite sides. Either he didn't think anyone would believe Harry or he simply didn't care.

"People need to be safe at Hogwarts," Harry said. He knew that he should get around Malfoy, end the conversation, but the more Malfoy spoke the more Harry's suspicions were confirmed. With the kind of loose speech he was throwing around Harry figured Malfoy might give up an admission of guilt, or at least give some clues as to who had attacked Katie. There was no longer any doubt in Harry's mind that Malfoy had been involved.

"Hogwarts isn't safe. Nowhere is safe. You, of all people, should know that," Malfoy said. There was a something like regret in his words, making Harry pause.

After a moment of indecision, Harry said, "Dumbledore told me, in my second year, that help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it. Nobody here is alone unless by choice."

"You really believe that, don't you? How can you? Especially after you saw _him_. From some things there is no escape," Malfoy said. He shook his head, slowly at first, then more vigorously.

The time for subtlety was passed, Harry decided. "What are you planning?"

"Planning," Malfoy said, testing the word on his tongue. "Planning?"

"I saw you. In the forest. I know you're working for Voldemort."

"You don't know anything," Malfoy said, then drew his wand.

Harry did likewise, his palm starting to sweat, wondering if he had pushed too hard. There was no telling how dangerous Malfoy was. Things had escalated beyond a boyhood rivalry. He couldn't count on Malfoy pulling his punches anymore beyond his desire not to be expelled.

A black-cloaked figure turned the corner behind Malfoy.

"Inciting a duel in the hallway? How utterly predictable, Potter. Twenty points from Gryffindor," Snape said.

Harry didn't let his outrage show itself. Snape and Malfoy stood facing him, the former with an impassive look, the latter as if some prize had just been snatched away from him. Malfoy's look confirmed for Harry that he had been after something; the confrontation hadn't been as impulsive as he had first thought. There was something Malfoy wanted from him, some way he wanted Harry to act, and Snape had interrupted that.

"My office, Malfoy. Now." Snape held a long arm out, and Malfoy, sullenly, went off in the direction of the dungeons.

Snape stayed behind for a moment, not saying anything, but staring at Harry with an inscrutable expression. Harry stared back, not willing to back down. He didn't regret confronting Malfoy. His behavior, his reactions, they could all provide clues as to what he was planning. Snape's interruption was timely however. Harry doubted that there would have been many more words exchanged between the two of them.

Getting some tidbits of information from Malfoy, an acknowledgement that they were on different sides, had whet Harry's appetite for more. The only way to do that would be to spy on Malfoy or confront him again. Harry didn't have time for spying; the Dueling Club, his practices with Fleur and other assorted obligations took up too much of his time. Bluntness would be his only available course of action.

"In the future, do try to think before you act," Snape said, and with that was gone, following the path Malfoy had taken.

There was nothing left for Harry to do but go and have his date with Ginny. It was unfair to her, in a way. He doubted that he was going to be able to give her the focus she deserved after such a decisive encounter.

he was leaning against the stairway that led into the dungeon.

"You wouldn't believe who I just saw go by," she said.

"Malfoy, and then Snape."

"Maybe you would believe it."

"I just confronted Malfoy. He as good as admitted that he was working for Voldemort. Snape swooped in just before he started flinging spells at me. I'm still not sure what Malfoy's up to but clearly it's bad. He seems…dangerous, for once. We need to keep an eye on him, as often as we can," Harry said.

"Enemies on the outside and inside," Ginny said, more to herself than to Harry.

"I don't want this to distract us though. We're supposed to be on a date, not worrying about Malfoy."

"Right," Ginny said, cheering considerably, at least superficially.

She told Harry to follow her and led him into the dungeons. They went deeper than Harry was accustomed to; the walls gradually became less finished, moister, and the floor dirtier. It was a part of Hogwarts that was rarely traveled, Harry surmised.

If there was any part of Hogwarts that was the least explored it was the dungeons. Even the Slytherins rarely delved so deep and those who did didn't readily share what they learned. It was an odd place for two Gryffindors to go on a date. Though, Harry had to admit, it was out of the way. There was little chance of them running into anyone else in Hogwarts' bowels.

"Where exactly are you taking me?" Harry asked after an interminable amount of time spent navigating the various twists and turns. He expected to feel mud beneath his feet and see dirt above his head any minute.

"Somewhere special," Ginny said.

"That clears everything up."

They continued on for a few more minutes; the light continued to dim until they entered a hallway of thick moss covered stone. It only had one torch burning weakly in its attempt to illuminate the stretching hallway.

"This isn't creepy at all," Harry said.

"Don't be such a wimp," Ginny retorted.

She grabbed his hand, giving him a start, and dragged him down the hallway into the darkness. The hallway opened up into a cavernous room, equally dark as the hallway, and composed, from what he could tell, of the same strange old stone.

Harry gave a yell and listened to his voice echo oddly, as if it were struggling through water.

Ginny raised her wand in the air and said, " _Lumos Maxima_."

A giant bulb of light bloomed at the top of the room, hovering and casting away the darkness, leaving the room bare for Harry to see.

They were standing in a giant bubble, water beating against the translucent restraints. There was no glass or stone holding back the water; it just rippled a few yards away, being held in place by some ancient magic that Harry doubted he could even begin to fathom. There were only a few dozen paces someone could go into the room before the stone floor gave way to silt and dirt, and then, reaching farther than the light, a plenitude of plants and reeds waving gently with some unseen current.

"It's the lake," Ginny said.

Above them Harry could see fish swimming, a multiplicity of colors, shapes, and sizes. There were shadowy figures moving in the dark of the lake; Harry thought that they looked a lot like Merpeople. A giant many-limbed figure moved above them for just a moment before rocketing off out of sight.

"This is incredible. The Slytherins have a view like this in their common room but it's not nearly as good," Harry said.

"I found it while I was wandering Hogwarts one day," Ginny said. "Not many people come down this far into the dungeons. It's a shame. There're lots of interesting things to find."

There seemed to be no end to the lake. It stretched on into infinity. Despite the view, Harry didn't think that he and Ginny had gone down far enough to end up at the bottom of the lake. Once again he wondered just how much Hogwarts was able to stretch space for its own satisfaction.

The only sign that the school was nearby was the hallway that had led them there, which shimmered unsubstantially, a vaguely lit tunnel in the vast depths of the lake.

"I think the hallway there distorts space. You walk a few dozen paces and in reality you're moving a mile. It slopes downward gently and in reality you end up at the bottom of the lake. It's connected to the rest of the school but from here you can't see anything but the hallway. This is the sort of magic you imagined the founders coming up with when you were a kid," Ginny said.

"I can't imagine anyone else coming up with something like this," Harry said.

"Impressive enough for you?" Ginny asked.

"It's not bad," Harry said, getting a snort from Ginny.

She went over by the doorway to the hallway and picked up a basket that Harry hadn't noticed. It was nearly overflowing with fruits, meats, cheeses, and breads. Harry recognized the handiwork of the Hogwarts house-elves at once.

From within the basket Ginny drew a large patterned blanket and laid it down neatly on the floor. She sat down cross-legged and pulled out a pair of plates emblazoned with roaring lions.

"I went to the kitchen and asked for enough food for two people having a picnic. They gave me enough for a dozen. If you can say anything about the Hogwarts house-elves you can say that they're committed to their jobs," Ginny said.

Harry sat down across from her and accepted a platter of various foods that she served. There were grapes and strawberries, roast beef and turkey, sourdough and rye, and more cheeses than Harry could hope to identify. It was the sort of platter that Harry associated with the Dursley's elaborate dinners when they invited over some higher up that Vernon was trying to impress. The only thing missing was the overpriced bottle of wine.

"This is better than anything I could have come up with," Harry said, gesturing to the room. Despite the massive quantity of water hanging overhead, he didn't feel claustrophobic. There wasn't even any dampness in the air; the room was as dry as the rest of the castle. Whatever magic was holding the water back was holding back anything else from escaping the lake as well.

Looking thoughtful, Ginny said, "That's why I didn't leave it up to you. I figured that this would top anything else we could do. It makes you wonder, doesn't it? Just how many rooms in Hogwarts are like this? There's the Chamber of Secrets, the Room of Requirement, this room, and who knows how many others. Dumbledore's been here for decades and I doubt even he knows the extent of Hogwarts' secrets."

"Sometimes I regret making the Room of Requirement so public," Harry admitted.

"Because now it's not as special; people think of it as just another part of Hogwarts and don't realize how remarkable it is."

"Exactly. Even the extraordinary becomes ordinary after enough time. We can appreciate this now, but if we came here every day it wouldn't mean anything to us. That's what happened to the Room of Requirement. It's losing the impressive quality which makes it special."

"If it makes you feel any better I have a feeling people will forget about it in a few years. Things like that tend to be forgotten in time, especially with how quickly this place runs through students. If we came back in a decade I doubt that almost anyone would know about the Room of Requirement."

"I hope so. Some secrets aren't meant to be shared with the world," Harry said.

"Did you ever go back to the Chamber of Secrets?" Ginny asked.

It struck Harry as an odd question to ask on a date. He suspected that neither of them had any good memories of that place. They had both come closer to death than either of them would have liked.

If not for Fawkes then Harry's Hogwarts career would have ended before it really began. He tried not to think about that too much; the basilisk had long ago become just another nightmare that he could push to the back of his mind.

"I've never gone back. Not exactly a cheery place," he said.

"For a few years now I've seen it in my dreams. I remember flashes; statues and the diary mostly. I can't shake the feeling that if I really want to get over what happened I have to go down there again. Maybe it won't do anything, but it's been at the back of my mind for a long time."

"And you need my help to get down there," Harry said.

"You are the only parseltongue that I know," she said, a wry smile on her face.

"I can take you, whenever you want. You might be right. It could be good for both of us."

Ginny nodded her head, staring at him, and then said "You know, you've changed a lot."

"How so?"

"Ron always talked about you a lot over the summers, the adventures you got into together. I used to love those stories. Then you spent a lot of time at the Burrow and I actually got to know you. You've always been a bit like the ideal Gryffindor, but recently there's been something, I don't know, more than that. People look up to you, and not just because you're the Boy-Who-Lived. Whatever respect or awe they have for you now is completely deserved. You've made the leap from boy-wonder to a leader that the students here, and people in the wizarding world, can look up to. I mean, Harry, what the hell happened?"

How did it happen? Harry saw a flash of light hair and amused sardonic eyes before focusing back on Ginny. "I think you might be exaggerating," he said, embarrassed.

"No, I'm not," Ginny said, and she was speaking with such forceful honesty that Harry felt compelled to believe her. It wasn't flattery; it was more like she was just acknowledging a change she had noted in him, bringing it to his attention, as if curious as to whether or not he had noticed it himself.

"Everyone sees it now," Ginny continued. "Especially after you organized that vigil for Katie and gave that speech. People were talking about it for days. They talk about you in the same way they talk about Dumbledore; someone who they can't even begin to understand but who they respect nonetheless. It's just interesting. I still remember you when you were twelve; shy, awkward, and scrawny."

"You weren't exactly suave when you were younger either, butter girl," Harry pointed out sourly.

She laughed. "No, I guess I wasn't."

"Does that change how the people around me look at me? How you look at me?" Harry asked.

Ginny nodded. "It does. But…not in a bad way." She was staring at him with a certain intensity that made Harry uncomfortable, as if she was peering past any hope of privacy he could have.

Their food sat forgotten. The light from Ginny's spell had, without Harry noticing, been dimming since they had sat down, until it was nothing more than a dim flashlight, illuminating patches of the chamber. In the dark Ginny's hair mellowed to a deep cherry red. Her eyes were half-closed and she was leaning in.

Then he was leaning in as well and they were kissing, tender in its lack of surety, delighting in the solitude and the feeling of timelessness that the room provided. The water gently stirred overhead, making light swishing noises, as if it was going to fall on their heads at any moment, only heightening the sensations that Harry was feeling.

He reached out a hand and twined it through Ginny's hair, then took the other and placed it on her shoulder, pressing her against him so that their kiss deepened, their mouths opened, and they tried something that Harry wasn't entirely familiar with, but which he thought he could quite grow to like.

There were few private places in Hogwarts, Harry thought while running his hands through Ginny's hair. She had brought him to one of the only ones. He was starting to doubt that was a coincidence.

Hands began to roam, his more tentatively than her own. Hers were on his chest; then she was in his lap and she was reaching her hands under his robes and onto his chest.

Harry could feel a pressure growing and Ginny, unintentionally, sat down on top of it, eliciting a groan from Harry. She let out a surprised gasp when she felt him, then began to shift ever so slightly on his lap, teasing him.

Ginny broke the kiss just long enough to say, "I'm glad you're enjoying the date."

They stayed in the aquarium-like chamber for a few hours more, alternating between talking and kissing. Ginny confided in him her fears about the quidditch team, about being an inadequate captain, and Harry reassured her, stroking her sides and her hair as they talked.

He recounted some of his adventures with Ron and Hermione, telling her about Norbert and being polyjuiced as Crabbe and Goyle, not leaving out Hermione's unfortunate episode.

She laughed and told him about helping the twins with their pranks on Ron and Percy; how she could slip into their room without them getting suspicious and they would never blame her, even after the stink bomb or exploding quills went off. Fred and George delighted in their devious little sister. She spoke about all of her brothers affectionately, even Percy, evoking the picture of a lively and loving household.

Harry couldn't say that he had come down to the dungeons with her expecting something like this. Perhaps he had been naïve, but it seemed forward. Like something essential was missing, was being skipped.

Though, he had to admit, he took a certain delight in being able to pause his stories, or her stories, sometimes even partway through a sentence, so that they were silenced with a kiss. Her eagerness only served to further his own. The memories of Cho's kisses were supplanted in Harry's mind, pushed away by Ginny's enthusiasm.

As it approached nighttime Harry remembered that he had promised he would practice with Fleur after dinner. After Ginny finished telling him about when Bill had taken her deep into an Egyptian warlock's hidden tomb, Harry said, "It's getting late. We should probably rejoin the rest of the castle before Ron and Hermione send a search party out for me."

Ginny looked reluctant to go, and said, "There's no rush, is there? We have food here. Ron and Hermione can wait until later tonight." She drew Harry into a sweet, lingering kiss.

"I promised Fleur that I would practice with her tonight," Harry said.

Ginny drew back at the mention of Fleur, like Harry had just admitted he was secretly an agent of Voldemort.

"It's ust dueling practice," Harry reassured her.

"Just dueling practice," she repeated. "Well I wouldn't want to make you late."

Harry flinched at her tone. Perhaps, he thought to himself, there were more diplomatic ways of broaching the subject.

Ginny stood up and began gathering the blanket and the plates into the basket, slinging it over one shoulder. Harry felt a certain coldness coming from her, but he didn't want and start a fight. He wanted to say that she was being unreasonable, getting upset with him for going to practice with Fleur, but he knew from her perspective that he was cutting short their time together to go spend time with another beautiful woman.

"Ginny, I had…a really good time," Harry said, trying to push past his almost hesitant words with a kiss, which Ginny received somewhat sourly.

"I'll expect you to do the planning next time," Ginny told him.

"I would be delighted, but it might not top this," Harry said.

"I'm expecting great things from you, Mr. Potter," Ginny said, twirling out of his grip and leading him back out of the dungeons.

"Join the club," Harry said.

They made it out of the dungeons just as dinner was ending and most students were leaving the Great Hall. Harry didn't see Ron or Hermione but Ginny got a few odd looks for the basket slung over her shoulder.

"I'll see you soon," Harry said to Ginny. He felt as if he should do something dramatic, like take her roughly and kiss her, to show her that she mattered and he wanted other people to know it as well.

"I'm going to hold you to that, Harry," Ginny said. She sauntered off in the direction of the kitchens, leaving Harry staring at her retreating figure.

* * *

Fleur had already been in the Dueling Room for some time judging by the layer of sweat shining on her face. She was blasting away at an assembly of four dummies, alternating between curses, charms, and complex transfigurations, the likes of which Harry knew he couldn't even hope to pull off. Dumbledore's tomes had helped by introducing some raw power into his arsenal but he still wasn't half the wizard that Fleur was.

"Started without me, I see," Harry said. He couldn't seem to get a foolish grin off of his face.

"You're late," Fleur said, tapping one foot and glaring at him. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she looked stressed.

"I was busy," Harry said, shrugging.

"I talked to Dumbledore about joining the Order," Fleur said, without a note of her usual playfulness or mockery.

"That would explain your delightful mood."

"I thought that Dumbledore was going to ease me in, give me some grunt work first, just enough to test me, see where my abilities lay."

"I'm guessing that's not what happened."

Fleur gave a little laugh that almost bordered on the hysterical. "No, the opposite. He decided that, based on my qualifications, it would make sense for me to be the Order's liaison to the rest of Europe. Nothing too important. Just making sure to keep the governments of Europe appraised about the threat You-Know-Who poses since apparently we can't trust the Ministry to actually do its job."

"That's pretty flattering," Harry said. He wasn't exactly sure where Fleur's unhappiness was coming from. That was certainly more than Dumbledore trusted most people to do. It was more than Dumbledore had ever trusted him with, in fact.

"Flattering. And hugely stressful. There's a difference between giving dueling lessons to a bunch of kids and making waves on the world stage. I'm going to be responsible for coordinating any effective international responses to You-Know-Who's movements, making sure that he isn't trying to branch out into the rest of Europe, and basically playing mind games with the most amoral politicians in the world. Alone. Apparently he couldn't spare anyone else."

"Let's be honest, Fleur," Harry said. "I can't think of anyone more qualified for something like this than you. The only person the Order has other than you that could even hope to pull something like this off is Dumbledore, and he's too busy to handle it. Think of it this way, even if you do a terrible job he's got nobody to replace you with."

A small smile quirked at the edges of her mouth. "You always know how to make me feel better," she said.

"Look, all I know is that you're way more qualified for this than other people and you love battling wits with important people and drinking their wine. This is practically your dream job. Other than the whole not getting paid part."

"This does mean that I'll have less time to spend at Hogwarts. Less time for us to practice together," Fleur said. Her words were meandering, as if she was trying to give off a nonchalant feeling. Harry knew her too well to fall for that.

"What you'll be doing is more important than helping me to brush up on my dueling. Besides, I can beat you as often as not now anyway," he said, adopting a purposefully taunting expression.

"Still overconfident. Will you never learn?" Fleur said, shaking her head sadly.

"And here I thought your problem was that I learn too quickly," Harry said.

"Is that what you thought? Well, I suppose you never cease to amaze me, though not in the ways you seem to think. How about this: when I win I expect you to tell me everything about your date with Ginny."

Harry was momentarily thrown off guard, the usual easy repartee failing him. He hadn't even known that Fleur was aware of his date with Ginny.

"Don't I get to have any secrets of my own?" Harry asked.

"For every secret you keep I get to keep one of my own," Fleur said, positioning herself on the mat and waiting for Harry.

"Here I thought you didn't have any secrets from me."

"Oh, Harry, there are plenty of things you don't know about me," Fleur said. Something in her tone made Harry shiver, not unpleasantly.

"Best out of three," Harry said before they started. Fleur nodded.

Their first duel was one of speed and agility; they danced over the mat, shunning shields and transfiguration, banking on their mobility and the rapidity of their spellfire. Harry was casting faster than he ever had before, his attention split to both avoid spells and try to keep Fleur on the defensive. Mobile spellcasting was one of the areas he had risen to match her in.

This time she was disinclined to allow him the victory, matching him spell for spell and getting in a few extra when Harry was least expecting it. The slight advantage he had over her in terms of power was gone when they dueled with such alacrity, and Harry knew before the end that it was a loss. With near effortless grace she pushed him to the outside of the dueling mat, hemming him in like a lioness before her prey.

After that it was only a matter of a few more spells before Harry was blown off of the mat, wand flying with him, defeated. Fleur pocketed his wand and sauntered up to him.

"An admirable attempt," she said. Her tone made it clear she thought it anything but.

"I don't even want to hear it," Harry said, accepting her proffered hand and pulling himself to his feet.

"You're still trying to beat me at my own game. Your persistence borders on the ridiculous. Try to develop your own style."

"When I can finally beat you at your own game I'll know that I've actually improved," Harry said.

"Then we could be here for some time," Fleur said.

Harry didn't try the same approach twice. He went to the opposite extreme and stuck to a low mobility approach, hunkering behind a solid shield when Fleur tried peppering him with spellfire, rendering her speed and agility ineffective. The first few minutes of their second duel were nothing but Fleur trying, and failing, to get past Harry's defenses.

Eventually she gave up on her usual preference of high volume spellcasting and tried a new approach, slugging the equivalent of heavy artillery at Harry, forcing him to drop his shield and move out of the way. He responded in kind and they began trading the kind of spells that could level a small home.

In that sort of duel Harry knew, and Fleur knew, that he had the advantage. Power and creativity were his specialty.

Trying a new spell that he had learned from Dumbledore's notebook, Harry sent at her one of Dumbledore's more insidious creations. It was essentially a twined version of two spells, a Bombarding Charm and a Paralyzing Hex.

As Harry had anticipated, she dodged it, but when it struck the ground next to her it didn't dissipate harmlessly as she had been expecting. The tendrils of the Paralyzing Hex latched on to her leg, having been tied to the area-of-effect properties of the Bombarding Charm, and she lost most of her mobility in one fell swoop.

After that it was a simple task for Harry to blow her out of the dueling ring with a well-placed Disarming Spell. He deftly snatched Fleur's wand out of the air and gave her a smug look.

"An admirable attempt," Harry said.

"Now I know I didn't teach you how to do that. What was that?" Fleur asked.

"Just something I picked up," Harry said, feigning indifference.

"You're going to teach it to me, you realize that, right?"

"The master becomes the apprentice; the circle waxes on," he intoned gravely.

"Jokes won't get you out of this," Fleur said. "I've only seen a few wizards do things like that before and they've all been masters of their craft. You're sixteen."

"Age, my dear, is but a number," Harry said, now imitating Dumbledore's tone.

"Don't get cocky yet. We've still got a tiebreaker," Fleur said, accepting Harry's hand and pulling herself to her feet.

They didn't bother getting back into their starting positions for the last duel. They were close enough that Harry could see every speckle of unusual color in Fleur's eyes. It was a tense affair that Harry didn't expect to last more than a few seconds; they were too close, their pace too frantic, for anything more drawn out.

It was like the final sprint of a long race, as if he was neck in neck with his greatest rival, and only one could win. Harry pushed himself to the upmost limits and could feel sweat drenching him, more from nerves than actual exertion.

Their last duel was raw, fast, and dirty. It ended with a flick of Harry's wand which launched a striking gust of wind, blowing Fleur off of her feet and separating her from her wand.

"You shouldn't have been able to get that spell off that quickly," Fleur said from her place on the floor. Harry knew well the annoyance in her voice.

"Practice makes perfect," Harry said, throwing out the old cliché but secretly pleased with himself. He hadn't thought he could get the spell off fast enough either.

"I don't think you've ever been able to beat me twice in a row before," Fleur said, not able to conceal her disappointment.

"I've had a good teacher," Harry said.

"Yes, and clearly they've been teaching you things I don't know. Some of those spells you've been using put most duelists to shame. I may have given you the form but someone else gave you the content," Fleur said.

Harry hesitated, then decided that if anyone deserved to know than it was Fleur. It wasn't like he would be able to keep it from her forever. He owed her that much at least. "Dumbledore gave me some books. I've been learning from them."

"And not sharing with me," Fleur said.

"He asked me not to show anyone. Or even tell anyone. It was supposed to be a secret between the two of us but there really wasn't a chance that you wouldn't notice the kinds of spells I was using."

"I won't tell anyone."

"I know. That's why I told you."

Fleur tossed Harry a water bottle. He downed it easily.

"Spells from Dumbledore and dueling lessons with me. You're going to be a force to be reckoned with, Harry Potter," Fleur said.

"How modest of you," Harry said, rolling his eyes at her.

"Modesty and pride will both obscure your vision; you should have a good understanding of your own worth. I'm better than most duelists out there and you're getting to be as good as me now. In another year there's no telling what you'll be capable of. Of course, if you showed me the books Dumbledore gave you…"

Harry brushed past her wheedling. "I wouldn't have gotten here without you. Thank you, Fleur," Harry said.

She blushed, and despite her sweat and what was, for her, unkempt hair, Harry couldn't help the thought that she had never looked quite so beautiful.

It was when she was least trying that Fleur was at her most enchanting.

"What can I say? When I see potential I can't help but chase it. I'm a fool when it comes to talent. Now, you promised to tell me about your date with Ginny," Fleur said.

"You said that I had to tell you if you won," Harry said.

Fleur shot him a look that clearly told him he was an idiot for believing that.

Harry sighed. "It was good. We talked and she took me somewhere in Hogwarts I'd never been before; it was pretty incredible, actually."

"Just talked," Fleur said, teasingly. "Another frustrating date for Harry Potter. First Cho and now Ginny. With all of the girls out there who would love to be with the Boy-Who-Lived you pick the ones that keep you at arm's length."

"We kissed!" Harry objected.

"Oh? And what kind of kiss was that? Soft and sweet? A schoolgirl's kiss. Or was it something more passionate?" Fleur's words were teasing, bordering on insulting, but there was an undercurrent of curiosity.

"You have no sense of shame," Harry said, pleased for a reason he couldn't explain.

"You don't have to be embarrassed. I remember my first time snogging. It was my fifth year at Beauxbatons and I was absolutely infatuated with this hapless boy in the year above me. He couldn't take a hint so eventually I had to drag him into a broom closet on Easter Morning. Of course, neither of us knew what we were doing, but it's still one of my fonder memories."

"I wasn't quite so oblivious," Harry said.

"Boys are always oblivious to the more artful advances. It's your state of nature," Fleur said, a wicked smile on her face.

"I don't think that boys are too oblivious; girls are just too subtle. Relationship problems would just go away if people told each other what they wanted," Harry said.

"Where's the charm in that? The romance? When you can anticipate the needs and wants of another, know their mind as well as you do your own, that's the hallmark of a beautiful relationship. That is the ideal that women strive toward. It's not our fault if men inevitably fail to get there."

"Maybe you should all just lower your standards. We're only human, after all. Anyway, Ginny's not like that."

"I'm well aware that she lacks the more genuine passions."

"We've all got our limitations."

"You know that she'll be expecting you to go with her to Slughorn's Christmas party," Fleur said.

"I figured," Harry said, not all that thrilled at the idea of spending the whole night cavorting around the room, talking to strangers, with Ginny on his arm. She was much more of a socialite than he was.

"Be careful you don't sound so thrilled when you're asking her," Fleur said, dryly.

"Ginny may be that kind of outgoing but I'm not. Anyway, Slughorn's parties are around less for dating than they are for networking. I don't see why I have to ask her to one of those."

Fleur's sigh seemed to tell Harry just how clueless he was. "Because Slughorn's invitation specifically said that it was a party where you should bring a date. You just went on a date with Ginny. Ergo, you must invite Ginny to Slughorn's party if you don't want to send a signal to her that you're not interested. Do I really need to lay this out to you any more clearly?"

"No, I get it," Harry said. An idea occurred to him. "If it's a date party then who're you taking? Bill's not even in the country."

"I wasn't planning on going. There are better ways of spending my time than chatting with mediocre ministry officials," Fleur said.

"What? You can't abandon me," Harry said, horrified. The idea of spending a night at one of Slughorn's parties surrounded by obsequious administrators sounded almost as pleasant as detention with Snape. Hell, he would rather fly against the Hungarian Horntail again.

"I'm sure you'll be fine for one night," Fleur said.

"I don't think I will. I think I'll die if you're not there," Harry said.

"These are the sorts of charming things that you should be saying to your girlfriend," Fleur said.

"Ginny isn't my girlfriend yet. She's just a girl that I…"

"Spend hours talking to and kissing," Fleur said. Somewhat less than helpfully, Harry thought.

"I was going to say that I'm interested in. One date doesn't mean we're dating," Harry said.

"One good date brings with it the promise for more," Fleur said, with an attitude of counseling a foolish younger sibling.

"And there will be. In the future. But that doesn't mean Slughorn's party. Fleur, if you don't come I'm not going either. You were the only thing even halfway tolerable about the last one," Harry said.

"Harry, we stole Slughorn's wine and hid in a corner."

"It was one of the best nights of my life."

"And here I thought that was just because you saw me in my underwear," Fleur said, delighting in Harry' abashed reaction.

"I didn't think you remembered that," he mumbled.

"I remembered. I was just waiting until a suitable time to hold it over your head. You didn't look away," Fleur said.

"You were flashing me," Harry said.

"Not exactly gentlemanly to stare at a woman when she's not in her right mind," Fleur said.

"It's not exactly very ladylike to get so drunk that you strip down to your underwear in front of your friends," Harry said.

Fleur got into Harry's personal space, met his eyes, and said, "If I were to go to Slughorn's party it wouldn't be a repeat of last time. No wandering off, getting hammered together, and then sneaking a peak," Fleur said.

She was close, distractingly so, and it was all Harry could do to say, "I wasn't sneaking a peak."

There was no way she could be unaware of the effect she was having on him. The subtle rise and fall of her chest was just below Harry's line of vision. Her eyes were bright, defiant, and there was something else to them he couldn't understand. The sweat was still on her forehead and Fleur was breathing heavily. Belatedly, Harry realized he was too.

"Your friends will be there so sneaking off would be too obvious," Fleur said, as if they were planning a great escape together.

To his surprise, Harry found himself saying, "Ginny would see us too."

"You're right, we don't want that."

And then Fleur had broken away from him, averted her eyes, and put a respectable distance between them. Harry found himself frustrated, even though he knew he shouldn't be.

He repeated the situation in his head like a mantra. Fleur is engaged. Fleur is engaged to your best friend's brother.

It didn't help. The frustration didn't recede and it took all of the control he could muster to get his breathing under control. There had been something, a moment, where he felt like a spark could have ignited. A moment where he felt a thousand possibilities. Neutral would be the best way to describe what he had chosen. Unchanging. The proper thing to do.

"Cheer up. Even if I don't come to the party we'll still have time to practice together every now and then. I'll fit you into my busy schedule," Fleur said.

She was looking around him, but not at him. The tenseness in the air had changed, going from something promising to something uncomfortable. Harry wanted to break that feeling.

"It sounds like this whole Order business could be dangerous for you. Put a target on your back, make Voldemort start to take note, that sort of thing," Harry said.

"I…suppose that's possible," Fleur said. They both knew Harry wasn't the sort to point out how dangerous a job was. It would be hypocritical of him, after all.

"Then I guess the best thing to do would be to make sure you can defend yourself. Dumbledore wouldn't have given you the job if he didn't trust you and what kind of friend would I be if I let you go out there without really getting you ready?"

"What are you getting at, Harry?" Fleur asked.

"I want to teach you some of the spells from Dumbledore's books. The useful ones. The ones that will help to keep you safe."

Fleur's eyes widened minutely. She was good at concealing her shock but Harry could tell that she hadn't actually expected him to cave.

"What made you change your mind?"

I don't want you to avoid looking at me, Harry thought. "The real danger is letting the books fall into Voldemort's hands. And Dumbledore just didn't want someone unscrupulous looking at the books. I'd say you're about as trustworthy as they come," he said.

"Thank you, Harry," Fleur said. A quiet contentedness seemed to overtake her. His offering had had the right effect. The tension was gone, swept away by the lure of esoteric magic.

"Of course, you know what this means, don't you?" Harry asked.

Fleur's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Now I'm the master, and you're the apprentice," Harry said.

Fleur looked distinctly unimpressed. "I'll consider you a master the day you can transfigure above the level of a bumbling fifth year."

"Hey, I've worked hard to get where I am."

"I know. That's what's so embarrassing," Fleur said. Her expression brightened as an idea seemed to occur to her. "You know what this really means? You won't be able to beat me in duels anymore. All the spells you've been using to take me down have been ones that you learned from Dumbledore. Once you teach them to me things will go back to normal. The world will be as it should once more."

She said that with the air of someone who had spent years grappling with a difficult problem, only to finally come up with the elusive answer in one incandescent moment. Harry couldn't help but smile.

"I didn't know that my victories were bothering you so much," he teased.

"Please," Fleur said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "I knew that they were flukes. You're good, Potter, but you're not at my level yet."

"A win is a win, no matter how it comes about," Harry said.

"We'll see how you're feeling after I learn all of the spells you've been using," Fleur said.

"They take a long time to master."

"I think I can handle it."

"Some of them have side effects."

"I'm a big girl, Harry. Just teach me the spells, give me the warnings, and let me use my best judgement," Fleur said.

She was right. If Dumbledore trusted him with those spells then it would be absurd to worry about teaching them to Fleur. She was ahead of him in every way that mattered. Technical ability proficiency, knowledge, and maturity. He could admit that much at least.

The idea of teaching her restricted magic didn't bother him all that much. Harry knew that he would likely be feeling differently when and if he told Dumbledore (deliberately keeping secrets from the headmaster left an uncomfortable sensation in the pit of his stomach) but he consoled himself with the thought that he was only helping the Order. Fleur was an important member and Harry was merely treating her as such.

He didn't have any ulterior motives. He just wanted to help a friend.

"Fine. I'll start teaching you the super-secret-special spells next time we practice together," Harry said.

Fleur just shook her head at him, like he was a small child making mistakes so blatant that even he should have picked up on them. "You really think you're going to get me to wait another couple of days for the most exciting thing to happen to me in years?"

Harry considered pointing out that Bill had proposed to her within the last year but decided that Fleur wasn't likely to take that well. He didn't want to purposefully antagonize her after all.

"We're both exhausted," he said instead.

"Hah. I've barely broken a sweat," Fleur said.

He pointedly took in her sweat drenched robes and frazzled hair but Fleur ignored him with the distinctive haughtiness that he found endlessly amusing.

"Fine," Harry said, after pretending to give it some thought. "We'll start now. But I hope you appreciate what I'm doing for you. I'm going against the explicit orders of the greatest wizard of the last hundred years for your sake."

"I'd expect nothing less," Fleur said. She came to stand next to him and Harry tried not to let her closeness affect him at all. They had just done away with the awkwardness. He wasn't going to act like a fool and bring it back again.

"You're spoiled."

"You enable me. Get over it. Now, show me one of the spells. That paralyzing one looked useful. I didn't even see it coming."

With feigned reluctance, Harry demonstrated the wand movements and explained the spell's requirements. It was strange to be the one demonstrating something for her. Harry wasn't uncomfortable teaching by any stretch; the DA and Dueling Club had broken him of that a long time ago. But it was different with Fleur. Frankly, he had never imagined that hewould ever have something to teach her.

She was impressive even when she was learning. The spell seemed to make sense to her on an intuitive level. She wasn't capable of just following and replicating the incantation, wand movements, and other basic pre-requisites like Harry did. Fleur understood the spell on an instinctive level, seeming to hold together the disparate requirements together in her head and visualize them, figuring out exactly why each piece was needed and fine tuning the most minute wand movements and incantation pronunciation to maximize the spell's efficiency.

Harry wasn't surprised when it took her less than an hour to learn the spell. Another hour after that and she was casting the spell even better than he could.

The look of joy on her face when she mastered the spell made everything worth it.

"I guess you're not the worst student I could have ended up with," Harry said.

Fleur just laughed and lightly swatted the back of head. Harry didn't let the shivers that ran through him show.

"Harry…thank you," Fleur said. She looked indecisive for a moment, then leaned in and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek.

Harry could see her searching his face, looking for a reaction, as if she was waiting to catalogue the results and file them away for later. He felt numb. His expression was blank. That was the last thing he had been expecting. Why would she do that? Hadn't they just gotten over the last awkward moment?

"I'll see you soon," Fleur said, after it became clear that he wasn't going to say anything. She left Harry standing like that. He wasn't sure if she had found whatever reaction she had been looking for but he knew, without a doubt, that he hoped she had.

* * *

Walking back to the common room Harry felt heavier, as if some invisible shackles had been pressed upon him. He couldn't pretend anymore.

He loved Fleur.

He had been avoiding the thought for so long because it was the most awful, unforgivable thing that he had ever done. Fleur was engaged. Fleur was engaged to his best friend's brother. But even that mantra wasn't enough to beat back the flowering feelings.

Ginny was pretty and clever, but Fleur was beautiful and brilliant. Ginny was fun but Fleur was exciting. Ginny was available. Fleur wasn't.

He felt guilt over the younger girl. He had agreed to their date, gone along with everything, even enjoyed himself, but Harry couldn't help but feel that it had been a lie, a way of distracting himself from Fleur. If it had been that then it was an abject failure.

The worst of it was that Harry couldn't help but think that Fleur felt something too. The way she had been so close… It didn't bear further thought. The implications were too awful.

Fleur was engaged. Fleur was engaged to his best friend's brother. There could never be anything between them.

It wasn't the first time Harry had to hide his thoughts and feelings and he doubted that it would be the last but he could say with absolute truthfulness that it was the worst. Like being forced to come close enough to see salvation all the while knowing that he would never reach it. Being with Fleur was the only torture he would look forward to.

Melodramatic? Undoubtedly. But Harry thought he deserved that much at least. It wasn't like he could talk to anyone else about what he was going through. Either he would be so vague that his problem would be incomprehensible or it would be obvious that he was talking about Fleur.

There wasn't anyone that Harry could really talk about this with anyway. Ron was clueless about relationships, Hermione wasn't much better, and his list of options after that was slim. Dumbledore? McGonagall? Uncle Vernon?

Better being melodramatic than to suffer through any of those conversations. It would be fine. Once Fleur was busy with the Order they wouldn't be around each other as much and he would be able to get his feelings under control.

Ron was playing chess with a second year that Harry recognized from the Dueling Club when he arrived at the common room. Seeing Harry, Ron brusquely shooed the younger boy off and gestured for Harry to have a seat.

Harry took over the chess game and saw at once that the younger boy had been about to lose. It was only a matter of time, half-a-dozen turns perhaps, before Ron would checkmate him. Harry wasn't good enough at chess to prevent it but he didn't much care at the moment.

"You look like someone just told you Buckbeak died," Ron said.

"Do I?"

"Yeah. It's weird, mate."

Harry shrugged, then changed the subject in a dull, monotone voice. "I got a tough new spell to work tonight."

"Fleur must've been pretty happy," Ron said, taking Harry's queen. He was less focused on what Harry was saying than the sacred game in front of them.

"I think she was," Harry said, allowing himself a small smile. The smile faded when he thought about how Ron would react if he knew. Would it be a passing anger? Or would it fester and become something that would tear them apart?

He would never tell Ron. No matter the consequences, they would be more than Harry could bear.

In another three moves Harry had lost. Ron sighed, cleared the chessboard, and said, "Look, Harry, I know."

"Know?" Harry asked. His first thought was that he had been too obvious. His infatuation was clear even to Ron. Ron, who was normally so oblivious.

"I saw you and Ginny leaving the dungeons together, and she was carrying a basket. You were clearly on a date. I get why you didn't want to tell me. I'm the clichéd overprotective older brother. But if you two want to date then I guess I'm alright with that. I just want both of you to be happy." He sounded pleased with himself when he finished, as if proud of his own maturity.

"Thanks, Ron" Harry said, feeling a sweeping relief. Of course Ron hadn't noticed. It would take a lot more than the subtleties of the way he and Fleur interacted for Ron to notice.

"Don't hurt her though. You know she's liked you for a long time. My family loves you and I don't want things get awkward," Ron said.

"I would never do anything like that, Ron," Harry said. The guilt almost made his hands shake as he started to put his pieces back on the board.

"I know. That's why my parents prefer you to me," Ron said. "We should probably start on our Potions essay. Can't have Slughorn's favorites slacking, now can we?"

"Never," Harry said.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter IX**

December brought a poignant chill that pervaded Harry. His relationship with Fleur had thawed from its brief awkwardness but Harry found himself unsatisfied with just returning to normalcy. He watched Fleur during the course of the day, sometimes aware of himself staring and sometimes not. He watched when she was eating meals up at the staff table, when she was demonstrating the spells to enraptured students at the Dueling Club, and when she was learning the spells from Dumbledore's notebooks that Harry was teaching her.

Fleur's brow would furrow and her eyes tighten whenever she was having difficulties with a spell. It was an uncharacteristically cute expression that Harry had never seen before. In fact, he had never seen Fleur struggle with anything before. Dumbledore's spells were abstruse enough to give even her pause.

The time that Harry spent with her was bittersweet; there was nothing that he looked forward to more but every moment he spent in her presence was a reminder of his feelings which, if he wasn't careful, would begin to grow to a frightening climax and threaten to make him do something utterly foolhardy.

He knew that he was acting stilted around Fleur, forcing himself to check and balance his every reaction to ensure that he wasn't showing any of what he was feeling, and that his behavior was bothering her, but Harry had decided it was better than the alternative. Better for her to pick up on some lingering discomfort than to realize what he was truly thinking.

(Fleur was engaged. Fleur was engaged to his best friend's brother.)

His growing uncertainty about what to do with Fleur was rivaled only with his uncertainty about Ginny. He had liked their date, enjoyed himself far more than he had expected, but the feelings he had for her were nothing like what he felt for Fleur.

Could he, in good conscience, offer up only a fragment of himself to Ginny? No, he thought. It would be unfair to both of them if he were to 'settle' for her. Unfair to him because he suspected that his feelings would settle into a troublesome resentment. And unfair to her because Harry had always believed that people deserved someone who would devote themselves entirely to that person.

He was not unaware of the irony of that belief.

However, there was no way that he could tell all of that to Ginny. He wouldn't have any plausible reason for telling her that he wasn't interested in further dates that wouldn't hurt her feelings.

It was unfortunate, then, that Ginny noticed him avoiding her and decided to do something about it. One day, Harry saw her waiting outside of his last class. Her head was down, and she was looking as nonchalant and nonthreatening as possible. Harry's first thought was that he might be able to get past her without her noticing but he gave up on that almost immediately. There were limits to his rudeness. Ron would be furious with him if he was that blatant about avoiding Ginny.

"I'll meet you back at the tower," Harry said as he broke off from Ron and Hermione. They looked back at him as he walked over to Ginny. Ron's glance lingered.

The hallway cleared of the last students before either of them said anything. Ginny seemed to grasp as well as he did that this wouldn't be a conversation they wanted to have in the middle of a crowd.

"It's been a while so I thought I'd try to track you down," Ginny said. There was a halting uncertainty about her, as if she wasn't sure how to approach him, that nearly made Harry cringe with guilt.

"Yeah, sorry about that, I've been…busy. Dueling Club and schoolwork and everything," Harry said.

"I get that. I imagine it could be overwhelming. That's why I thought you might enjoy a break. There's this new restaurant that opened up at the far end of Hogsmeade and everyone I talked to about it said that it's really good. I figured that, if you weren't doing anything, we could try it out next weekend. See if all of the excitement is justified."

To ask someone who had all but obviously been avoiding her out on a date. Well, Harry had to give Ginny credit for courage.

"Ginny, I had a great time on our last date…"

The look on her face told him that she knew what his words would be before he even said them.

"Harry, I'm not _that_ fragile. You're not going to make me cry if you just tell me that you don't want to go out again," Ginny said.

"It's just that I really did enjoy our date. But with everything going on right now, with Voldemort, it seems like a bad idea. Especially after what happened to Katie. It's too dangerous for us to be seen together. It would put a massive target on your back."

"A target like the kind every single Weasley has on their back?"

"No. A different kind. A worse kind," Harry said. He could see Ginny was about to interrupt so he forged on. "I could never forgive myself if something happened to you because of me. It's not something I'm willing to risk. When the war is over, when Voldemort's gone…we can figure things out then."

"No more dates then," Ginny said.

"For now," Harry said.

Ginny nodded like she had just had something confirmed for her that she had been suspecting for days. "No dates then. We'll just have to go to Slughorn's party together as friends. Better than going stag, right?"

Courageous and clever, Harry amended. They couldn't date but they could still spend time together as friends. Harry couldn't very well argue that he couldn't have friends because of Voldemort.

"I wasn't sure about going to Slughorn's party," Harry said, knowing well that he didn't have much of a choice in the matter if he was going to retain his position as one of Slughorn's favorites. He got too many benefits from that to not at least make an appearance.

"If you don't go then I'll end up going without anyone to talk to," Ginny said, as if that settled the matter.

"Ron's going to be there," Harry said.

"If you don't go then I'll end up going without anyone to talk to," Ginny said.

Amused despite himself, Harry said, "Alright. We'll go to Slughorn's party together. As friends."

"Good. Now you can fill me in on everything that's going on in your life while you walk me back to the tower," Ginny said.

Harry was left with the feeling that Ginny had gotten exactly what she wanted out of that particular interaction. He hadn't lost exactly, if one could consider that conversation a battle, but he had been soundly outmaneuvered. Ginny was clever and persistent and if she had enjoyed the date as much as he had (and didn't have the complicating factors that were plaguing him), she wouldn't give up anytime soon.

The time it took to reach the tower passed at an enjoyable trot. Ginny was an eager conversationalist and they moved from topic to topic with the same easy facility as they had on their date. Harry was left with the distinct impression that, no matter what else happened, he would enjoy being friends with Ginny.

She was a master of talking, giving as much as she gave, talking as much as she listened, and managing to prod Harry only to talk about things he didn't mind talking about, backing down whenever she sensed she was verging on something uncomfortable or dangerous.

Talking to Ginny was like being lulled to a conversational zen, and Harry thought that if he wasn't paying attention he wouldn't even be sure what she could get him to say. It lacked the perspicacity and intensity of his verbal duels with Fleur but had a more subdued enjoyment to it regardless.

"Now, Slughorn's party is in a week and I'll be wearing red so I expect you to wear something that won't clash horribly," Ginny said when they were nearing the tower.

"We're matching now?" Harry asked.

"We can't be standing next to each other the entire night and clash. Of course you have to pick something out that matches."

"What's the difference between this and a real date again?"

"I'll leave that to your imagination," Ginny said. "Now, I've got Potions in fifteen minutes so I'll be off."

"You weren't coming back to the tower?" Harry asked.

Ginny was already walking away. "Nope," she called back cheerfully.

Well played, Weasley, Harry thought.

The common room was crowded and loud, full of students complaining about the classes they had just gotten out of, complaining about how much homework they had been given, and complaining about Snape (which seemed like it would fall under the first category but which Harry and Ron had unilaterally decided warranted a category of its own).

Harry settled into his usual spot across from Ron and Hermione in the corner of the room, halfheartedly making a first move with Ron's chess set.

Ron made his move and then, with forced casualness, asked, "What did Ginny want?"

"She asked me to go to Slughorn's party with her. As a friend," Harry said. He made a more focused move, hoping that if he actually put in some effort Ron would be too engrossed to interrogate him.

"Sounds like fun," Ron said, beginning one of his more practiced moves which Harry still wasn't able to counter. The gap between their chess abilities was like the gap between Dumbledore's ability and his own. Harry was starting to despair about whether there was anything he was good at. Quidditch, he supposed.

"Yeah, she told she's wearing red and that I had better match," Harry said.

"And you're just going as friends?" Hermione asked.

Harry could only shrug in response. Ron seemed satisfied with that information and proceeded to utterly destroy Harry, despite his best efforts. Hermione was reading through a recondite volume titled, _Genesis and Structure of Kissin's Transfiguration._ The common room grew louder.

Harry was content with the fact that some things could stay the same.

* * *

The decorations for Slughorn's Christmas party were impressive. Red and green flames wove through patterns of shapes, from mistletoe to gingerbread houses, and the flames were housed in elaborate Christmas tree shaped sconces. House elves wandered around the room, levitating golden trays overflowing with exotic dishes (most of which Harry couldn't even name) and the occasional mug of eggnog or bursting mince pie.

No matter how many of Slughorn's parties he went to, Harry doubted that he would ever attain real comfort with them. They were too stylized, too artificial; it seemed as if every guest had an affectation or two in an attempt to differentiate themselves from the rest of the multitude. Eccentricity wasn't looked down on at wizarding parties. In fact, Harry had noticed that the most popular guests were often the oddest.

After watching one woman walk past with a talking black owl on one shoulder (who seemed quite displeased with the quality of the refreshments available) and a purring tropical parakeet on the other, Harry decided that he would never label Dumbledore as eccentric ever again. He was clearly a moderate in the wizarding world.

Ron and Hermione, who were standing next to him at the party seemed equally entranced by the strange woman. Hermione, ever the more polite of the trio, smacked them on the shoulders when she came back to their senses, hissing at them about the impoliteness of staring. Ron ignored her and Harry's attention was drawn by Ginny's entrance.

She was, true to her word, wearing a flattering red dress that terminated at an angle midway between her knees and her ankles. The dress was complimented by the long braid that her hair was pulled into, which ended at the point the back of her dress began, giving a sense of premeditation to the outfit, as if it the entire look had been designed well in advance for one night in particular.

It looked good on her, Harry thought.

"Harry…" Ron said, in a vague attempt to be threatening.

Ginny came up to the trio and gave Harry a light hug in greeting. "At least you can take instructions," she said, gesturing to his simple black dress robes. They didn't clash but Harry wouldn't say they looked as if they were matching either. Though that part had been intentional.

"I couldn't let you down on a night as important as this," Harry said.

"Slughorn's party?" Hermione asked skeptically.

"They're the event of the season," Ginny said.

"Only the best and brightest are invited," Harry added.

"That's why I never understood why Ron gets invited," Ginny said. She seemed to delight in her brother's angry flushing.

"Do you want a drink?" Harry asked. It wasn't a date but he supposed that was still an appropriate, and safe, question to ask. Ginny accepted and Harry went to find his way through the confining press of elaborately made-up witches and wizards toward where he remembered the drinks being.

After apologizing to a wizard with lurid purple hair for bumping into him, Harry caught a glimpse of the long bar that was, somewhat uncharacteristically for a Slughorn party, devoid of the usual bottles.

A pair of pleasant witches were behind the counter making exotic drinks for the guests. Harry got in line and asked for a glass of pumpkin juice when it was his turn. He didn't think Ron or Hermione would appreciate him trying to force alcohol on Ginny. For that matter, it could give her the wrong impression.

On his way back to Ginny, Harry was accosted by the last man he wanted to see.

"Harry! Just the man I wanted to see," Slughorn said. His face was already a jovial scarlet and he had a half-empty glass of Firewhisky in his hand.

"Hello, Professor," Harry said, as pleasantly as he could.

"I was just telling a few of my friends about your absolutely prodigious potions skills. They're quite interested in meeting you. They've heard a great deal about you of course, but third-hand stories can't quite compare with the perspective that a professor can give, let alone the man himself. They're a somewhat uptight lot, as Potions Masters can tend to be, but I'm sure with your skills you'll have them thawed out in no time. These are absolutely the sort of people you should get to know. They could be very helpful to you later on. It's all about the people you know, m'boy. Never let someone slip past you without making sure that they'll remember your name, that's the key. That's the key to it all! And talent of course."

"I'm not sure I can right now, Professor. I promised Ginny that I'd get her a drink," Harry said. He held out of the glass of juice as if it could shield him from Slughorn's onslaught.

"Ginevra, you say? Wonderful girl! An excellent choice. She made quite the splash at the last party. Let's bring her along as well. She doesn't quite have our flair for the more subtle arts of potioneering, alas, but she can hold her own and I'm sure she can be trusted not to make a fool of herself."

"I think she and I were planning on…"

"I'm afraid they already promised to show me around to a few of the charming guests that they met last time," Fleur said, coming up behind Harry and putting a possessive hand on his shoulder. Harry didn't think he had ever been so glad to see her before.

"Is that so? Well, nothing to be done in that case. I'll track you down later then," Slughorn said, his cheer undimmed. His eyes squinted at the mass of guests for a moment before picking out his next victim and he was gone with as little warning as he arrived.

"I'm going to make a shrine to you," Harry said.

"After what I just saved you from I don't know that a simple shrine will cut it," Fleur said.

Rather than her usual dress, Fleur was wearing a sharply cut set of white dress robes with a deep blue winding its way along the cuffs and edges. Harry knew he shouldn't be disappointed that she wasn't wearing something less stiff and formal but he much preferred seeing Fleur in a dress.

"I didn't think that you were coming," Harry said.

With a careless shrug, Fleur said, "A last minute change of plans. I decided that I couldn't leave you here to fend for yourself without any help. Who knows what you'd end up agreeing to without me here to guide you? I can't, in good conscience, have you causing an international incident if there was any way that I could prevent it."

"You think that I could cause an international incident at Slughorn's Christmas party?" Harry asked.

"Of course. You have such a way with words, after all," Fleur said. She noticed the drink in his hand. "I leave you alone for half-an-hour and you start drinking pumpkin juice? Clearly we haven't been spending enough time together recently if you're able to disappoint me this badly."

"It's for Ginny. I thought it might send the wrong signal if I got her something stronger," Harry said.

"You're here with Ginny? I thought that you had been avoiding her for the last week. After your _wonderful_ date," Fleur said. Harry couldn't tell if she was mocking him or not but he was leaning toward a yes. It did look rather odd for him to have spoken to her about well the date went and then summarily avoid Ginny at every possible opportunity.

"We came as friends. She's probably wondering where I am right now. I went to get the drink a while ago," Harry said.

"We wouldn't want to keep your lady waiting," Fleur said.

Definitely mocking him, Harry thought. The sad thing was he couldn't even pick out what specifically she was mocking him for. There were too many options.

Harry forged a path back to where he had last seen Ginny, shielding the juice from the inevitable callous jostling and offhanded elbows that were endemic at crowded Christmas parties. His reflexes, carefully cultivated over years of quidditch practices, were pushed to their limits to ensure none of the juice was spilled.

Fleur followed in his wake with considerable amusement, watching him duck and weave his way through the more inconsiderately drunken guests. She had a smile and a kind word for every one of them. If she had it her way Harry suspected that he would be running an obstacle course with the juice in hand.

Not for the first time, Harry wondered why Slughorn insisted on hosting all of his parties in the same room. It was fine for smaller affairs, like the usual Slughorn party, but for a Christmas party it was practically torture.

Harry was able, miraculously, to reach Ginny with a full glass of juice. She took it from him with a perplexed expression and a glance behind him at Fleur.

"I ran into Slughorn on the way back. He wanted us to come meet some of his Potions Master friends but Fleur rescued me," Harry said.

"I wouldn't have minded meeting some Potions Masters. It might have been interesting," Ginny said.

"A bunch of drunken old men," Fleur said, one hand gesturing dismissively in the direction they had seen Slughorn leave.

"Where did Ron and Hermione go?" Harry asked.

"Hermione saw some witch that she had been talking to last time and dragged Ron along to introduce him. I expect that they'll start talking about something way over his head and he'll stand there like an idiot trying not to show how bored he is," Ginny said.

Standing in between Fleur and Ginny was like being a sea wall for a tsunami, Harry thought. And a particularly inadequate sea wall at that. He could only cast around in his head for a topic, any topic, which would somehow be appropriate with both of them around.

Before he could come up with something, Fleur had already engaged Ginny. "So you and Harry are here as friends?" she asked, with false politeness. She adopted the tone of a mildly bored socialite.

"Slughorn's party isn't exactly anyone's idea of a great venue for a date," Ginny said.

"Still, after how well Harry said that your first date went I was expecting you two to come as more than friends," Fleur said.

Ginny was clearly at a loss for words so Harry took pity on her. "It's not exactly the time to start up a public relationship. Not with Voldemort still out there."

"True enough," Fleur said. Her tone settled back down to normal.

"I think I see Monsieur Lucard over there. I'm going to go say hello. Find me when you're done," Ginny said to Harry. She swept away and Harry followed her departure until he was sure that she was out of sight. Then he turned to Fleur.

"That was childish and uncalled for," he said.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just confused and I was hoping that Ginny could help with that. None of this makes very much sense to me. First you come and tell me that you had an excellent date with Ginny, then you spend the next week avoiding her, and finally I come here to keep you company and find out that you've agreed to go with Ginny. As friends. You'll have to make some kind of sense of this for me because I just can't figure it out."

"It's like I said. I don't want to start any relationship now because that would put a target on their back. It's just common sense," Harry said.

Fleur looked markedly unimpressed. "When you want to give me the real answer that's fine. But don't lie to me, Harry. Or at least not so poorly. I suppose I should leave you now to go chasing off after Ginny."

If he had to pick between Ginny and Fleur it wasn't even close. "You don't have to do that. She's probably having a good time going around talking to people. She's liked it every other time she came to one of Slughorn's parties," Harry said. He knew he had an obligation to Ginny but surely that didn't mean he wasn't allowed to spend any time with Fleur. After all, he and Ginny had only gone as friends.

Besides, Fleur's smile when he said that was worth Ginny's inevitable annoyance.

"If I'm sticking around then I'm not doing it without a drink in hand," Fleur said. She gestured for Harry to lead the way back into the buzzing mass of guests in the direction of the bar.

"You just want to see me get elbowed in the face," Harry said.

"At least you won't spill your drink this time," Fleur said.

Once at the bar, Fleur ordered for both of them. It was a drink that Harry had never heard of before, and, once he saw it, he was somewhat less than enthused about drinking it.

The drink, a Blind Merlin, was a pearlescent shocking green in a tall glass, garnished with a purple fruit that Harry was positive wasn't grown naturally. Fleur seemed pleased with hers, taking small pulls of it with a slothful smile, so Harry took a small sip of his own.

It…wasn't bad. There was a strong undercurrent of some strong liquor that Harry wasn't familiar with but that was drowned out by a tangy fruity blend. The aftertaste wasn't entirely pleasant but it was better than Harry had been expecting.

"A bit of a departure from our usual wine. What do you think?" Fleur asked. She eyed her own drink with noticeable appreciation.

"It's not bad. A bit fruity though," Harry said.

"Does that offend your masculinity?"

"I spend all my time getting bossed around by women. I think most people would say I gave up on my masculinity a long time ago," Harry said.

"And you're the better for it," Fleur said. She patted the lapel of his dress robe in an absent arrhythmic pattern, as one would a favored pet. It was a thoughtless contact, done more sardonically than anything, but Harry caught himself wishing that she wouldn't stop.

Merlin, he was pathetic.

"I think I'm going to start holding group duels in the Dueling Club soon," Fleur said. "Probably pair up a younger student and an older student to start. Teach them some teamwork, how to compensate for a partner's weaknesses. They've got the rest of the basics down already."

Harry agreed. In his mind they had been spending too long just working on spellwork already. In the kind of duel that Hogwarts students would be in variety mattered less than ensuring you didn't die. Knowing how to work well as a team was far more valuable than a few more spells in their arsenal.

"But why a younger student with an older student? Don't you think that'll just frustrate both of them?" Harry asked.

"It's supposed to. You're not going to be fighting alongside someone talented in every duel. Sometimes you'll even be alongside someone who can't duel at all. They need to be at least familiar with every situation they're likely to find themselves in. If they can't handle it in training conditions then there's no chance that they'll be able to hand it in a real fight."

"Not a bad idea," Harry said.

Fleur made a vague gesture, as if to indicate that that went unsaid.

A rapid shuffling at the entrance to the room forestalled any need for a response. Some guests were pedaling away from the entrance, condescension and disgust on their faces, while others remained looking on curiously. Harry and Fleur stood and made their way toward the disturbance.

It wasn't an easy task to slide through the accumulating crowd but Harry managed to bludgeon a path for them until they were close to the front.

Filch, looking entirely too pleased with himself, was holding Malfoy in a vice-grip near the entrance to the doorway, speaking in loud tones to an annoyed Slughorn. At least, Harry thought that for Slughorn that it was an annoyed expression. Given that at his parties Slughorn usually looked as if his excessive cheerfulness was going to blow him up like a balloon and sent him wafting through the night sky, the bland expression on his face probably indicated some level of irritation.

"…and he was skulking around outside without an invitation. Detentions for him, don't you think Professor? Hanging around where he's not wanted. Trying to sneak in," Filch said.

With a look back at the crowd that was watching him, Slughorn said, "Now, now, we should be celebrating Christmas, not worrying about dishing out detentions, Argus. If Mr. Malfoy is interested in attending our small gathering then, by all means, he should be able to join us. You're as welcome as any," Slughorn said, directing the last to Malfoy, self-congratulation suffused in every word. The only person impressed with Slughorn's generosity was Slughorn.

"Malfoy wouldn't be hanging around outside of this because he wanted into the party," Harry said.

"Then why would he be down here right now?" Fleur asked.

"I'm not sure but I'd love to find out," Harry said.

Malfoy finally seemed to register Slughorn's words. He opened his mouth to say something (something that Harry doubted would be a polite acceptance) but a hard pale hand came down on his shoulder.

Snape loomed over Malfoy, an angry sneer (one of the most foreboding sneers in Snape's arsenal, according to Fred and George) marring his already unpleasant countenance.

"I'm afraid I have to disagree with you entirely, Professor," Snape said. "Christmas does not excuse behavior unfitting of a Hogwarts student. As his Head of House I will be administering the proper punishment to Mr. Malfoy for disturbing an event that he was expressly not invited to."

With that Snape's hand went from roughly grasping Malfoy's shoulder to steering him with force toward the exit. Filch stumbled out of the way as the pair left with what seemed like undue celerity. Harry made a move to follow them but Fleur restrained him.

"There are too many eyes on the door right now. If they see you leaving after Malfoy and Snape everyone in the room will know that you're following them and it'll eventually get back to one of them. If Malfoy really is planning something then you don't want him to be leery of you."

"It's a little late for that," Harry said, but he didn't make any move to follow them again. The moment was already lost. He had no idea where Snape had taken Malfoy. Likely they were back in Snape's office where Harry had no chance of getting in undetected. Whatever they were talking about was beyond his ability to learn.

"Just don't think about it. That's why Dumbledore, the professors, and the Order are here," Fleur said.

"And the Ministry?"

"Would that actually make you feel any better?"

"Yeah. Warm bodies to throw in front of a spell."

"Don't be crude, Harry," Fleur said.

"Nobody in the Order has mentioned anything about Malfoy to you, have they?" Harry asked.

"No. I haven't actually been to any of the major Order meetings yet. Most of the work I do gets reported directly to Dumbledore. My work intersects only marginally with the other operations that the Order is running," Fleur said.

Disappointing, but Harry hadn't exactly expected Fleur to have wormed her way into the heart of the Order after only weeks of involvement.

"Finish your drinks and stop worrying about Malfoy. You're being an idiot if you think that he can fool Dumbledore," Fleur said.

"Now you're sounding like Hermione," Harry said. He did as she requested anyway. The Blind Merlin was leading Harry to a pleasant fuzziness which made it quite easy to shunt Malfoy from his thoughts.

Harry knew that he had to watch how much he drank; he was teetering at the edge of a precipice as things were. The slightest slip, a longing glance, an ill-chosen word, and his thoughts and feelings for Fleur would be revealed in a single terrible moment. It was difficult enough to hide his most consuming obsession when he was in full possession of himself. Harry didn't need the added difficulty that the Merlin would provide.

Though it would be rude not to finish his drink, Harry thought, putting the Blind Merlin down to a quarter of the glass.

"I've been thinking a lot about our dueling recently," Fleur said.

"Fleur, is this going to turn into you gloating about how often you're able to beat me again?" Harry asked.

"A true winner doesn't feel any need to brag about her victory. Her superiority is evident to all without the need for something as juvenile as boasting."

"You know that talking about not bragging is pretty much the same thing as bragging, right?" Harry finished the rest of his drink. If he was going to have to sit and listen to Fleur pedantically go on about her dueling superiority then he would need something to keep him sane.

"I was thinking that your dueling style is too easily countered. It's all brute force. There's no finesse. You use no transfiguration, hardly any charms, and your typical strategy is to use power or speed to bully your opponent into submission. There's no cleverness to how you fight."

"If it works…"

"But it won't work against everyone. That's exactly what I'm saying," Fleur said.

Harry rapped his fingers against his empty glass, producing an unharmonious pinging sound, while he considered what Fleur was saying. It was true that he didn't have a lot of variety in his dueling. It was hard to integrate Charms into your arsenal unless you were intimately familiar with them and Transfiguration was frankly beyond him in a fast-paced duel. He relied on the spells he did because they were what he knew.

"What're you suggesting then?" Harry asked. "Remedial lessons?"

"I can't have you getting yourself blown up because you can't cast a half-decent transfiguration. It would reflect poorly on me as a teacher," Fleur said.

"I thought we agreed that I was the one teaching you?" Harry said.

"We can agree on that when you can take me in a fair fight," Fleur said. She filched his empty glass from his hand, her face having been scrunched with displeasure at the foul sounds assaulting her ears, and she held it against her own empty glass in a mockery of a lover's embrace.

"I'll go get us another," Fleur said.

"None for me. I have to find Ginny after you're done manhandling my pride," Harry said.

"Don't get boring now, Harry," Fleur said. She strutted to the bar and Harry took the opportunity to search the crowd for Ginny's distinctive hair.

The closest he came was glimpse of Ron staring forlornly at the glass of water in his hand as Hermione and an older wizard jabbered enthusiastically about some arcane topic or another. Ron would have to get used to it if he was serious about Hermione, Harry thought. It wasn't as if she was going to conveniently lose interest in the things that bored him as soon as they started dating.

Fleur came back with a topped-off Blind Merlin for herself and a glass of pumpkin juice for him.

"How kind of you," Harry said.

"You do like juice, don't you?" Fleur asked, a rakish smile only partially concealed by the glass she was holding to her mouth.

Harry shook his head, then said, "I've thought about your offer and decided to accept it. Remedial lessons couldn't hurt." They would be a perfect opportunity to spend more time with her. "Besides, they can't be nearly as bad as Snape's were."

"You had remedial lessons with Snape? You poor boy. Tell me everything," Fleur said.

Harry spun the somewhat tedious history of his Occlumency lessons with Snape into a embellished tale in which he, heroically, fended off Snape's vile attempts to gaze into the most private recesses of his mind while at the same time learning to launch his own forays against Snape. The tale ended with his valiant sortie into the foulest swamps of Snape's repressed memories where Harry encountered memories too profane to trouble her delicate sensibilities.

Fleur made the required expressions and gestures that a good listener should; she smiled appreciatively at his derogatory descriptions of Snape's appearance, gasped in horror as the lank tendrils of Snape's Legilimency ensnared him, and let out an exaggerated cheer of her own at the conclusion of his story.

"I can't help but feel that you left all of the good parts of your story," Fleur said.

"Such as?"

"What memories you had that were so private that you were willing to do anything to protect them. And what you saw in Snape's mind that was so personal you won't tell me."

Harry considered what to say in response, and he had evidently paused too long because Fleur said, "I'm not asking you to tell me. If it's as personal as it sounds then it makes sense that you'd want to keep it to yourself. It was just something I noticed."

"It's private," Harry said, thankful for her willingness to let it go.

"Or maybe it's not private," Fleur said, as if musing to herself. "Maybe it's just something you don't want to corrupt an innocent damsel such as myself with. Perhaps the minds of Harry Potter and Severus Snape are crawling with the sort of lewd fantasies that would make even the stoutest hearts quail."

"Innocent damsel?"

"Yes, an innocent damsel you filthy pervert," Fleur said. An older, impeccably dressed wizard started as he walked by, giving Harry a suspicious glance. It looked for a moment like he was going to say something but on seeing Fleur's amused expression he just shook his head and kept moving by.

"Do you want to get us thrown out of the party?" Harry asked.

"It wouldn't be the worst thing to ever happen to us," Fleur said. While true, that wasn't really the point. "And you never really answered my question. How about it Harry? What racy dreams were you so keen to keep the good professor from?"

Two could play at that game. "They were about you of course," Harry said.

"Oh. Do tell."

"Well, the best one was about the Tri-Wizard Tournament. It was just after the second task, when I pulled your sister out of the lake, and you were so grateful that you gave me…a reward," Harry said. He was proud of how he managed to keep a straight face through it all. Half-way in he had thought that he would either reveal his amusement or the fact that the very idea of being with Fleur so intimately was affecting him strongly.

Fleur, playing the part of a coquette to perfection, batted her eyelashes teasingly at Harry. "And what kind of reward was that? Was it something…nice?"

A faint blush caressed Harry's cheeks. Damn it.

The shadow of a victorious, predatory smirk settled on Fleur.

"Very nice," Harry said, trying to compose himself.

"I love doing nice things for people. Why don't you describe it so that I know what you like? You know, for future reference," Fleur said.

"We went back to the Beauxbatons' carriage…"

"Go on."

"And you showed me a good time." Harry's cringe was severe and involuntary. Could he sound any more juvenile? So much for playing a game of innuendo.

"I showed you around the carriage?"

"No."

"I don't understand then. A good time…oh." A shy maiden-like expression drifted onto Fleur's face, as if she had suddenly come to a surprising, but flattering, realization. She was a good actor, Harry thought. Too good. If he didn't know the game that they were playing it would be easy to be taken in.

As it was, he knew that she was toying with him but he still wanted to give in. To pretend it was real. He craved it like nothing else.

Fleur brushed a silken hand's through Harry's hair. It was a light touch, but he found himself leaning into it ever so slightly, reluctant to let the pleasant contact fade.

"I let you have me, didn't I?" Her voice was nothing more than a whisper. Her hand settled on Harry's cheek, stroking him with regular, indolent touches.

It took all of Harry's willpower to pull away. It was one thing to use words, but to touch him like that was just cheating. "All right, Fleur. You win."

Her hand traced one last delightful pattern on his cheek and then she pulled it away, her innocent charade dropped in favor of a triumphant turn of face.

"Did you really think that you could win that, Harry?" she asked.

The euphoria of the moment, of being touched so gently, and with so much feeling, was gone; it left behind only the crushing realization that Fleur would never touch him with so much genuine feeling, would never whisper to him delightful things in the dark of night, would never be what she had pretended to be.

Harry thought that just for a moment his bitterness, his jealousy toward Bill, was perfectly justified.

"I thought I'd give it a shot," Harry said. He was aware that the joviality he tried to force didn't shine through, buried by so many mixed feelings.

Fleur looked at him, then looked away. "I can't fault your boldness. But it's getting late. I think I'm going to turn in for the night. You should find Ginny. Bring her a drink or something, apologize. Just be a good date."

"We're not dating," Harry said.

"Of course not," Fleur said. He thought her smile seemed a bit sad but then she had turned away was gone, swallowed the relentless push and pull of merrymakers and dour bureaucrats.

Time passed and Harry stood still. He could still feel a shadow of Fleur's caresses on his cheek; the memory of her words was setting his mind aflame and he replayed it in his head over and over, as if to burn it indelibly into the very fiber of his being.

Fleur would never touch him like that but at least now he could pretend.

Eventually he had to let the moment go, consign it to the back of his mind, so that he could fulfill obligations that he couldn't care less about. Even the prospect of Ginny's anger and disappointment if he were to just leave seemed hollow compared to the crushing loneliness that was threatening to bury him.

In the end Harry got a drink and rejoined Ginny more because of what he thought Fleur would say if he didn't than because of what Ginny would say.

The rest of the evening was a tedious blur, creeping along at an agonizing pace that was only tolerable because Harry realized how little it mattered. He played nice with the obsequious Ministry officials and was respectful with the arrogant socialites but none of them were able to scratch beneath the thinnest veneer of civility. Even Ginny didn't seem to notice, so caught up in the thrill of being introduced to the flood of pseudo-important people.

Harry realized in the course of the night that there was a certain type of person who attended a party held by Slughorn. They were in the middling stage of their career; important enough to be invited but not so important that the prospect of future promotions or success couldn't still be dangled in front of them. The older, truly successful individuals had no interest in attending a party thrown by a social-climbing Hogwarts professor. It gave the entire affair a mildly incestuous feel, like a sea of minnows looking for approval from one another.

"I think I'm ready to go now," Harry said, interrupting a self-important spiel by some pinched wizard in a drab gray pair of dress robes.

"We're both very tired," Ginny said to the offended wizard before she took Harry by the arm and removed him forcibly to the outskirts of the crowd.

"That was incredibly rude," she said.

"I'm tired, bored, and we're never going to see any of these people again," Harry said.

"That's still no excuse to be rude," Ginny said.

"You're right. I'm sorry. I'm just going to head back to the tower now. It's been a long day and I hate parties like this," Harry said.

Ginny was unappeased by his insincere apology but made no complaints as he brushed past her toward the exit.

There wasn't a lot he could say in defence of his behavior other than his utter apathy toward whatever the random guests thought of him. Even his attitude toward Ginny's opinion of him was blasé at best.

(Fleur was engaged. Fleur was engaged to his best friend's brother.)

There reached a point, Harry thought, when the truth ceased to matter to feeling; when facts could be taken, assimilated, and then casually thrown out in the face of a prodigious onslaught of emotion.

How could he continue to hide what he was feeling? Fleur wasn't oblivious. She had seen his reaction. She knew what it meant. If things didn't change between them then it was only because he was a coward and she was too kind to point out his infatuation.

Then again, it wasn't as if boldness would change anything about his situation. He could spend as much time talking to Fleur about his feelings as he wanted; Fleur was going to marry Bill. They were happy together and whatever she felt toward him, it clearly wasn't what she was feeling toward Bill.

The boy's dormitory was quiet when Harry entered. The curtains around Neville's bed were drawn, a light snoring peeking out through the gaps, but Ron was still at Slughorn's party and Seamus and Dean were nowhere to be found.

Harry got into bed, not bothering to change or perform his nightly ablutions. Sleep was elusive.

When he finally dreamed, it was of a silver haired girl waiting at the bank of an endless lake.

* * *

As Harry had predicted, nothing changed between him and Fleur in the days before Christmas holidays. They continued to meet to practice dueling (in fact the meetings became longer and more frequent as Fleur tried to drill him on the rudiments of applying transfiguration and charms in dueling). He continued to hide, to the best of his abilities, his feelings toward her, and she carried on with her pretense of ignorance.

His duels with Fleur had become exercises in futility more than anything else. He found himself unable to focus on anything but her, the basics that she was trying to teach him slipping from his mind as soon as they found purchase. To his surprise, Fleur was lenient with his mistakes, drilling him slowly and patiently until she was sure that he had grasped what she was focusing on.

Harry put that down to the spells that he was continuing to teach her from Dumbledore's notebooks. They were approaching the point where she would know as many of the spells as he did. Then he would have to decide whether he continued teaching her only the spells he knew or if he took it a step farther and gave her access to the notebooks themselves. Dumbledore would never approve of such a step but Harry found himself caring less and less about what anyone but Fleur thought.

A sense of growing isolation and alienation began to overtake Harry the longer his situation persisted, as if no matter how hard he tried nothing could right his problem. There wasn't a single option that he, or even Fleur, could take that wouldn't hurt someone. However, as things stood, it seemed like he was the only one in pain.

His sense of isolation wasn't helped by the fact that Ron and Hermione had begun spending nearly all of their free time together, and only a portion of that was spent in the common room or in the library. Harry wasn't sure where they were going when they wanted to be alone but it left him without fulfilling contact with anyone at Hogwarts.

Any other time he would have been glad for Ron and Hermione, pleased that they were finally acting on their feelings (something he only longed he could do), but it seemed to him that they had acted on their feelings at the most inopportune moment for him. He was feeling withdrawn not only from others but from himself and his closest friends were too caught up in each other to even notice. It was petty to resent them for their happiness but Harry caught himself doing so regardless.

Dealing with other people became a chore. Harry frequently used the invisibility cloak and hidden passages just to avoid fraternizing with the other students. The enthusiasm and reverence with which the younger students had been treating him since the start of the year had evolved from being vaguely annoying to something utterly intolerable.

The only consolation he had was the Dueling Club. There he could ignore Fleur, ignore Ron and Hermione, and work past the awe his students held him in by pushing them to their limits, trying to instill in them the same skills that had kept him alive through his trials.

There were odd looks from the younger students when he began pushing them harder at club meetings, advocating that they work on the skills he was drilling even during their free time, but Harry rejoiced in the freedom he felt while teaching. He even went so far as to invite a few small groups of the less talented (but highly enthusiastic) students to practice with him during their free time.

The less time Harry had to spend thinking about Fleur or his friends the happier he found himself. Teaching was something to lose himself in; it reminded him of nothing and could absorb his full attention for however long he was doing it. It was the perfect remedy for his situation. Sometimes he wondered if that was why any of the professors had started.

Between schoolwork, dueling with Fleur, the Dueling Club, and helping out struggling students, Harry was invariably exhausted by the time he went to bed each night. Exhaustion was good though. He dreamed about her less when he was exhausted.

Harry was beginning to think that he would be able to make it until Christmas break without anything else to disturb the delicate ecosystem that he had created for himself when Ron and Hermione asked, in strained and uncomfortable tones, if they could speak to him. Harry suspected what they had to say, and wasn't looking forward to it, but he wasn't willing to be a bad friend either. He acquiesced and let them lead him to a secluded corner of the library where it was unlikely that anyone would overhear them.

"What's this about?" Harry asked. If nothing else, he could get some amusement from watching them squirm. If there was one thing Ron and Hermione undeniably had in common it was that they hated broaching personal topics.

"Ron and I have been spending a lot of time together. Talking," Hermione corrected when she realized what it sounded like she was implying.

When he realized that her mortification was going to prevent her from going any further, Ron took over. "Hermione and I like each other. We're going to date and we wanted to let you know and to tell you that this doesn't change anything and that we're still best mates and we're not going to exclude you and that we didn't want you to be uncomfortable spending time with us or anything." There was a pause in the torrent of words before Ron, who had begun to blush, said, "I think that's everything."

"Wow, this came out of nowhere," Harry said. He shook his head like the news had physically stunned him.

Hermione put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "We didn't want to hide it from you but we had some things to work out before we decided to make it official. We're sorry for keeping secrets, Harry."

"Yeah, we won't ever sneak around again. I was against it, didn't want you wondering where we were, but she overruled me," Ron said. Hermione looked as if she was going to take offence but then visibly mastered herself and turned back to Harry.

"And here I thought you two were sneaking off together to go study in library. How naive of me," Harry said. He tried to sound as melodramatically glum as possible.

"You...this whole time?" Hermione asked.

"You're two of the least subtle people I know. I'd be surprised if half of Gryffindor didn't know about you two already," Harry said.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Ron asked. Hermione seemed guilty but Ron was responding with an offhand inquisitiveness, as if when Harry's knowledge of their relationship began was a matter of historical curiosity and nothing else.

"I figured that the two of you would tell me when there was something to say. Besides, it would be hypocritical of me to berate you for hiding things from me when I've done the same in the past. I trusted you two to tell me when you were ready," Harry said.

It was all true, to an extent. He had kept secrets in the past and he did trust them to tell him. However, it omitted the fact that Harry wasn't sure that he could have kept his anger from revealing itself if he had been the one to confront them. His sense of abandonment, the crushing loneliness he had been struggling with for weeks, would have risen to the surface if he had had to be proactive.

It was far easier to put on a façade when it was an encounter you were preparing for, rather than one you initiated, Harry thought.

"You don't seem bothered," Hermione said.

"I figured there was something up since the train ride to school. I was basically just waiting for the two of you to get together. Honestly, I'm a little surprised that it took this long. I guess you are both pretty stubborn and oblivious though," Harry said, ignoring their simultaneous cries of disagreement.

"This wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it was going to be," Ron said.

"Did you think that I was going to be difficult?" Harry asked.

"We thought that you were going to be surprised," Hermione said.

"I wonder if we were as obvious about the Polyjuice Potion second year as you two were sneaking around," Harry mused.

"Somebody would have caught us if we were," Hermione said.

"Which just means that we've gotten worse about sneaking around," Ron said.

There was still one question that Harry had about their relationship.

"So, what exactly happened on the train?"

This time they both went scarlet, looked at each other, and blushed even deeper. Hermione shook her head hurriedly in a wordless refusal and Ron just looked as if he was recalling the most tragic incident of his entire life.

Being the good friend that he was, Harry didn't press any further. They would tell him one day. Probably.

"Does this mean that you two are going to be gushing over each other from here on out?" Harry asked. The idea of Hermione feeding Ron at breakfast, or of him reciting bad poetry to her made Harry nauseous.

Ron's snort and Hermione's rolled eyes told him that he had nothing to worry about.

"I wouldn't worry, Harry. It'll be like nothing's changed," Hermione said.

"We'll just be sneaking off poorly every once in a while," Ron said.

"Or not," Hermione said. She gave Ron a look and he cringed.

"I'm not worried," Harry said.

Ron, burgeoning with relief at the end of an awkward conversation, tapped Harry on the shoulder and started expounding the virtues of the Chudley Cannon's new seeker, who was apparently exponentially better than their last one ("Not that that's saying much," Ron said.). Hermione smiled with evident indulgence as Ron used his hands to mime the exact moves that their new seeker was capable of and Harry felt a tinge of relief, like the pressure on him had, just for a moment, been alleviated, and he could breathe again.

Ron and Hermione were good friends, he thought.

* * *

When Christmas break came, Harry was still losing himself in teaching and work; still trying, ineffectually, to break the hold that Fleur had over him, still being given only scraps of attention by Ron and Hermione, who, although they did their best, were still more interested in exploring their new relationship than in spending time playing chess or studying with him.

Ron had told Harry before break that he was going to come to the Burrow for Christmas and that his parents had arranged for them to use McGonagall's floo to get home.

For once, Harry was eager to leave Hogwarts behind. Things were too complicated there. He could enjoy a Christmas at the Burrow. Things would be more normal. Hermione would be going home so it would be a casual Christmas with Ron and the Weasleys. No new relationships or unrequited loves to bother him. Things might be a little uncomfortable with Ginny but he could handle that much.

McGonagall's office was locked and there was nobody inside when Harry arrived. He was early, but he had half expected that Ron and Ginny would have been there waiting as well.

Since everything was packed already Harry had no choice but to wait outside McGonagall's office in the austere, drafty hallway that adjoined it to the rest of the second floor. McGonagall had eschewed the typical portraits and suits of armor that adorned the rest of Hogwarts; the hallway to her office was bare except for variations on the Gryffindor crest placed at meticulously spaced intervals.

Harry thought it would be quite intimidating for a Slytherin to be walking to her office. Almost like being on death row.

For lack of anything better to do, Harry studied the Gryffindor crests in intimate detail. Each one was slightly different, the minute discrepancies of hundreds of years of history, but the essential details were the same in every one. Harry was struck, while observing one of the noticeably older crests, by a sense of an overwhelming history. How many students had walked where he was walking? How many Gryffindors dreading punishment at the hands of their head of house? Professor McGonagall, and all the students in Gryffindor, were nothing more than the phantoms of the past given form, walking where they had walked, eating where they had eaten, learning where they had learned.

It was humbling to be the bearer of such an immense history. So humbling that Harry was almost glad when Ginny arrived. Almost.

She started on seeing him, but regained her composure in no time, making it seem as if she had merely missed a step. With a curt greeting she took up a position by the side of McGonagall's office, leaning against the cold stone wall with her eyes firmly oriented toward the ground.

They hadn't spoken since Slughorn's party. It would perhaps be more accurate to say that Harry hadn't apologized to Ginny since Slughorn's party. He knew she was owed one, given how awfully he had behaved, but he was more of the line of thought that was glad Ginny was upset with him. Her anger was easier to deal with than her attempts to flirt with him, or get him to go on dates with her. Anger was a much simpler emotion to deal with than infatuation or love.

Harry looked up at the crest again, as if he could find there an answer to his dilemma inscribed by some long-dead Gryffindor. The roaring lion faced him impassively. There was no wisdom to be found there.

"Ron's late," Ginny said.

"He's probably saying goodbye to Hermione," Harry said.

"They're dating now, right?"

"Yes."

They were quiet again. Harry liked the quiet. It was easier to maintain than a conversation. And he had plenty of practice with ignoring the awkwardness.

Ron trundled down the hallway a few minutes later, looking glum, a hastily packed suitcase that was only half-zipped waddling after him on wooden legs. The animation was too good to have been down by Ron. Hermione's handiwork, no doubt.

"Ready to go?" Harry asked.

"We have to wait. I don't have a key," Ron said.

"McGonagall is usually more punctual than this," Harry said.

Ginny looked at him strangely and said, "We're not waiting for McGonagall."

Harry had an unpleasant suspicion of who they were waiting on, but before he could ask, Fleur walked around the bend of hallway, a trio of suitcases in a phalanx formation trailing proudly behind her, each one packed to the bursting point. Of course.

"I didn't know you were coming for Christmas," Harry said.

Fleur looked as surprised as he felt. "I didn't know you were coming either. You never mentioned it," she said.

"I thought you were going back to France," Harry said.

"I thought you were going to stay at Hogwarts," Fleur said.

"I think you two need to work on your communication," Ginny said. She gestured for Fleur to unlock McGonagall's office.

Harry supposed that it made sense for Fleur to come along. It wasn't as if McGonagall was going to entrust the key to her office to a gaggle of students. And if Bill was going to be at the Burrow for Christmas, Fleur would want to be there as well.

Fleur and Bill. There wasn't any escaping that particular truth, was there?

"Alright, Harry?" Fleur asked. Everyone else had moved into the office but Harry was still standing outside, staring at Gryffindor's crest like it had betrayed him.

"Coming," Harry said. He picked up his suitcase and entered McGonagall's office.

It was far less austere than the hallway outside, boasting three bookshelves stocked with treatises thick enough to give Hermione a moment's pause, a glass case holding over a dozen gleaming trophies, both House Cups and Quidditch Cups, and a dark red oak desk that dominated the center of the room. Neatly organized stacks of paper, a few expensive quills, and an ornate inkwell were the desk's only accoutrements.

In the back of the office was a large fireplace, spacious enough for a tall man to stand in and wide enough that it seemed like it would be able to hold several people. A steady fire was burning in it, giving off heat that washed away the draft of the hallway as soon as one entered the room. There was an artificial appearance to the flames, not even variance in their highs and lows, and Harry suspected that the fire was less than mundane in nature.

The office was exactly what Harry had expected. Organized, proud, and functional.

"Ready to go?" Fleur asked. She received affirmatives from Ron and Ginny and passed out pinches of Floo powder to each of them. Her fingertips brushed Harry's palm as she was giving him his share and his fingers shuddered.

"The Burrow," Ginny said, tossing her powder in the fire and stepping through once it turned a magnificent green. Ron followed shortly after.

"I had thought you would be tired of the Burrow," Harry said to Fleur.

"Certain people can make even the most trying places something special," Fleur said, with a delicate smile. She stepped into the green flames and was gone.

Harry waited a minute, contemplating whether or not he could just change his mind and stay at Hogwarts for Christmas without mortally offending the Weasleys. When he decided that it was out of the question, Harry took reluctant steps toward the fire, fed it his floo powder, and reappeared at the Burrow.


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: Thanks to DLP for their help on this chapter and for their continued assistance with this story in general. It wouldn't be worth glancing at without them.**

 **Chapter X**

There had been a moment, right when Bill arrived at the Burrow, when Harry had hoped that a wedge would be driven between him and Fleur. She was feeling neglected at Hogwarts. Bill wasn't writing enough. He wasn't making her feel wanted.

Harry hated seeing her upset but he couldn't help but be glad for the reason.

Despite her frustration, when Bill's international portkey was supposed to come in Fleur was in the vanguard of those waiting for him by the front of the Burrow. Her arms were crossed and she had on an ambivalent expression. Then Bill appeared soundly on the ground (and he landed on his feet, Harry noted with disappointment), and, seeing Fleur, he ignored everyone else.

Bill walked over to Fleur, pulled her into a hug that she didn't resist, and whispered something in her ear. Harry couldn't see her face, and could only imagine what Bill was saying, but he could recognize the delight in Fleur's posture. She pulled Bill against her tighter and said something back to him.

When Fleur turned around she was smiling as widely as Bill. While Bill greeted the rest of his family Fleur waited, her eyes never leaving him.

After finishing the obligatory greetings and talking to his family for a while, Bill and Fleur retired up to Bill's old room. Ginny rolled her eyes, the twins made ribald cracks, Ron looked jealous, and Harry took a walk, unable to bear being in the same house while they were together.

As he walked, Harry wondered what Bill had said. Maybe it didn't even matter. Was that what love was like? Something that made it that easy to forgive?

* * *

A Christmas tree poking the top of the Burrow's high ceiling lorded its dominance over the living room, its thick branches trembling under the weight of the hundreds of decorations that the Weasleys had accumulated over the years. Small family photos, ornaments, miniature instruments that would let out bustling tunes at odd intervals, and toy wands that sparked and flashed through a spectrum of reds and greens adorned the tree's limbs.

In many ways, the tree was like the Burrow itself; loud, colorful, chaotic, and utterly unlike anything else that Harry had ever seen before. In other years, he might have been more impressed by it. This year, however, his attention was drawn with disturbing regularity over to the happy couple sitting in the corner. Bill. With Fleur.

As he looked over again he saw Bill whisper something in Fleur's ear. She laughed and her face colored like a peach. Their sides were pressed against each other and Bill had his arm around Fleur's waist.

They had been acting like a couple on honeymoon ever since Bill had showed up at the Burrow the night after they had arrived from Hogwarts. It made Harry's stomach turn uncomfortably every time he saw them do something together; he had watched as Bill held Fleur's hand, took her close to him, whispered in her ear and made her laugh.

They looked happy together and that just made everything worse. Worse because, for the first time, he felt like the problem. Like his desires were what would cause everyone around him pain.

That didn't stop his jealousy from coloring his entire break though. He couldn't turn away whenever he saw Bill and Fleur engaging in any of their dozens of acts of affection. He watched Bill get to do all of the things he had only dreamt of; the things that he knew he would never get a chance to do. It was as if they were mocking him. But Bill would never do that. He had been nothing but kind and welcoming since he had met Harry.

"I'm sure Harry would know something about that," Bill said. He nudged Fleur and winked at Harry.

Harry hadn't been listening but Fleur took pity on him and said, "We were talking about the different kinds of curses and traps that wizards protect their treasures with."

"Ron told me all about your first year," Bill said.

Just another one of his attempts to draw Harry into the conversation. Bill didn't even know him and yet he had tried half-a-dozen times over the past couple of days to draw Harry into the family's conversations. Harry wasn't sure if Bill thought that he was shy or just strange, but the repeated attempts were becoming irritating.

"Hermione figured out most of those traps," Harry said. He went back to focusing on his feet. Bill gave him up as a lost cause but Harry thought that, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Fleur staring at him, before she too turned and away and responded to something Bill said to her.

Harry was spending the vacation in a jealous, dazed gloom, wanting nothing so much as to be back at Hogwarts. Even Privet Drive would be better than the Burrow. At least there he was able to shut himself away from the world without anybody noticing or caring. Whenever he was away from the Weasleys for more than an hour or two Ron or Ginny would appear to drag him back down to the festivities, or to play quidditch in the back yard, or for a game of chess. Harry had no doubt that it was Mrs. Weasley's doing; she wanted him to feel as welcome at the Burrow as he did in his own home (not a difficult task by any means), but instead Harry just felt claustrophobic.

The Burrow wasn't even as crowded as it tended to be most years. Charlie wasn't able to make it back to England, the twins spent most of their time in Diagon Alley on account of their big Christmas sale, and Percy hadn't visited once. With Mr. Weasley at work during the day, that meant the only people at the Burrow were Mrs. Weasley, Ron, Ginny, Fleur, and Bill. And him.

Still, everywhere he turned Fleur and Bill were there. Bill would come out to join them in their impromptu quidditch match and of course Fleur would be there. Harry would play Ron in chess and Bill would pretend to coach him and give him advice while Fleur did the same for Harry.

The brush of her hair or the sound of her voice whispering in his ear would be more than enough to throw him off of his game and Ron flogged him soundly each time. It was nearly impossible to beat Ron at the best of times, but when Fleur was being so distracting and Bill was right there, able to observe his every reaction, it was just a wonder that Harry lasted more than a dozen moves.

Eventually, as an act of desperation, Harry had taken to climbing out of the attic window (past the melancholy ghoul that would beat a sad tune on the pipes whenever he saw Harry) and out onto the roof. It was an oddly sloped roof, and Harry had no doubt that one misplaced step would see him sliding off of it, but even that risk was acceptable in the face of the overly-gregarious Weasley family.

He usually brought out one of the books that Fleur had recommended for him and did some reading. Most of the books she told him about were treatises on either transfiguration or charms, but occasionally she recommended fiction. Harry was starting to notice that every one of the novels she told him about was a slow French drama with a happy ending. Her taste in literature was probably the most mundane thing about her.

Ron had asked him more than once where he disappeared to for hours at a time but Harry always prevaricated until Ron decided to just give up on the line of questioning. He had only one place to be alone in the entirety of the Burrow. He wasn't going to give it up without, at the absolute minimum, a guilt trip from Mrs. Weasley.

There were still certain events that Harry couldn't escape. Christmas morning was one of them. Fleur and Bill were in a delightful mood, exchanging gifts with each other and the rest of the family present (the entire Weasley clan sans Percy and Charlie) while Harry had to put a façade of cheerfulness for Ron and Mrs. Weasley's sake. The entire ordeal was exhausting and not ameliorated in the slightest by the bevy of thoughtful gifts that he received.

There was the classic Weasley sweater, gags from Fred and George's shop, a book on twining animation and transfiguration from Hermione (Harry had taken a quick look and it seemed to be more on McGonagall's level than his own), a broom tuning kit from Ron (who said that Harry would have to be daft not to keep his Firebolt in pristine condition), and a joint gift from Fleur and Bill of a bottle of wine that Harry was willing to bet cost more than most of his possessions.

A joint gift. They weren't even giving gifts separately anymore. Mrs. Weasley looked like she wanted to snatch the bottle from Harry, an admonishment to follow shortly after, but a glance from Bill quelled that impulse.

He had painted a smile on his face and thanked them with enthusiasm. Fleur gave him a look but, clearly not wanting to upset the jovial atmosphere of the Christmas morning, she said nothing.

Harry had gotten gifts for each of the Weasleys and they thanked him in turn. None of them were particularly interesting, just odds and ends that he had picked up without putting much thought into it. Hermione, Ron, and Fleur had been the only ones that he put any real thought into.

For Ron he had gotten tickets to each of the friendlies that the Chudley Cannons would be playing over the summer. Extra incentive to learn how to apparate, Mrs. Weasley had said. The tickets had been, perhaps unsurprisingly, rather cheap. Harry had only been intending to get one at first but when he saw how little demand there was he had gotten the lot, along with a ticket to the first one for himself to go along with Ron.

The gift was met with a great deal of enthusiasm, as Ron swore the game that they would go to together would be more than enough to turn Harry into a Cannons fan for life. Harry thought it was more likely that they would be one of a handful of deluded fans forced to watch the systematic dismantling of the Cannons by an overqualified opposition, but if Ron wanted to get his hopes up then that was his own business.

Hermione's gift was simpler; a revised compilation of some notes that Harry had taken on Fleur's transfiguration and charms techniques. She had been less than enthused about Harry sending off her ideas to Hermione but had eventually relented. For his sake, she said. The notes made no mention of where he had gotten the material but Harry knew Hermione would figure it out.

It was Fleur's gift that had been the hardest to figure out. What could he get someone who had everything she could conceivably want? He didn't know anything about drinks, she probably already knew everything in any book that he could get her, she didn't follow any sports team particularly closely, and he doubted that she would want any clothing that he could pick out. Never before had Harry struggled so much with figuring out what gift to get someone. It had to be something personal, but not so personal that it would seem suspicious to the Weasleys.

In the end, Harry decided to go with something simple and universal; something touching that with any luck wouldn't come off as childishly saccharine. He had asked Colin Creevey to take a picture of the Dueling Club in full swing while Fleur had been occupied and then gotten a nice burnished wooden frame for the picture.

It was a good one, in Harry's opinion. Fleur was a commanding presence in the center of the room, demonstrating a wand movement for an attentive audience, while Harry was doing the same for his students at the end of the room. With the high ceiling that Colin just managed to fit in the frame and the cheerful light coming from the torches, the picture conveyed a sense of unpretentious accomplishment. It was a nice reminder of why Fleur had come back to Hogwarts in the first place. Perhaps it wasn't as expensive as Fleur's gift, but it was a thoughtful gift nonetheless.

Fleur opened the carefully wrapped picture with pinpoint precision, tearing away each fold of the wrapping paper until it fell apart to reveal the picture. She stared at it for a moment, surprise turning up the ends of her eyes, until she looked back up at Harry.

"It doesn't move or anything like that. I asked Colin Creevey to take it and he uses a muggle camera," Harry said. The way she was looking at him was embarrassing, and he felt a sudden need to talk, to say something that would hide his discomfort.

"It's lovely, Harry. Thank you," Fleur said. Bill leaned over her shoulder to glance at it and whistled appreciatively.

Fleur placed the picture on the end table next to her with care and glanced at it every now and then. Harry's eyes tracked her, almost unwillingly, and he noticed that after she had looked at the photo, Fleur's eyes would dart in his direction, just for a moment, before refocusing on whatever she had been doing or saying before.

When the last of the presents had been opened and the obligatory exclamations made, the group moved to breakfast, which left hardly enough room on the table for everyone to fit a plate. Mrs. Weasley seemed to have been competing with Hogwarts' house elves judging by how much food she had made. Harry doubted that three times their number could have finished it all. There were eggs and pies and toast and fruits and beans and steak and ham and an assortment of other foods that Harry thought may as well have been picked out of a hat for how much sense they made in conjunction with the others.

Ron looked delighted with the bevy laid out before him and started before Harry made it to his seat. The rest of the family was more circumspect in their enjoyment of the food, though Harry thought that some of the twins' enjoyment came from the treat they had inserted into a plate of eggs that they passed Ron's way. Harry wasn't sure what that particular shade of green signified but he had no doubt it would be spectacular.

The Burrow was about as quiet as it ever got as they ate; the only sounds that Harry could make out were the clatter of silverware and a sad clanging noise coming from the attic. Harry resolved to bring a plate of food up to his new friend when he was finished. Did ghouls eat? Couldn't hurt to find out. He doubted Mrs. Weasley would even notice one less plate of food. They were going to be eating leftovers for weeks.

Under other, more pleasant, circumstances, Harry might have been pleased with the atmosphere. There weren't any reminders of Voldemort, of the shadow war that was being waged as they sat complacently eating a Christmas breakfast, no stress over school or grades, no worries about anything. But Fleur was there. Next to Bill. What enjoyment could be had in the face of that?

There was nothing to be done. Harry sat and ate his meal in silence. He could at least be grateful for the silence and the good company, if not the exact situation. If he had to be moping at least he could do it around the Weasleys. They were about as forgiving a group of people as he was likely to find. One bad Christmas wouldn't be something that they held against him.

The idyllic scene didn't last. A sudden rushing warmth overtook Harry, growing stronger and almost seeming to produce a physical burn as the seconds passed. The Weasleys looked around the table; most of the younger Weasleys appeared as confused as Harry but Mr. Weasley and Bill were exchanging knowing, worried glances. They didn't make any move to draw their wands so Harry assumed that whatever was coming wasn't dangerous.

Just as the warmth was about to reach a crescendo and become genuinely painful, a pure white phoenix swept into the room, perching on the back of Mr. Weasleys chair. It was the most brilliant patronus Harry had ever seen, making his own stag look crass in comparison. The heat it was giving off wasn't so much heat, Harry realized, as magic so intense that it caused a physical reaction in those near to it.

The phoenix opened its beak, as if to trill, and Dumbledore's voice came out instead. "Arthur, Bill, my apologies, but I must ask that you come to Grimmauld Place at once. There is something that requires our attention."

Mr. Weasley and Bill had begun moving before the patronus had finished talking. Their lack of confusion or alarm made Harry think that it wasn't the first time they had been summoned with such short notice. The Order didn't exactly have a neatly ordered schedule for when its members would be needed.

Neither Fleur nor Mrs. Weasley looked pleased, but Bill and Mr. Weasley spoke in low tones to them, apologizing but saying that they had to go, and then they were out of the room. Harry thought that the scene reminded him of the old pictures he had seen from the Second World War, with men saying goodbye to their wives and girlfriends before being shipped overseas to battle.

Silence descended on the room once again, but this time it was a somber silence; one that carried the hopes and prayers of those who lurked in it. Bill and Mr. Weasley would come back. Harry didn't doubt them for a second.

Mrs. Weasley stood for a moment, before leaving the room. "To check the clock," Ron said, quietly enough that she wouldn't hear him.

Harry had glanced at the clock a few times himself before deciding that it wouldn't do anything but drive him mad. Whenever a member of the family was anywhere but the Burrow, the hand invariably pointed to 'mortal peril.' The hands for Mr. Weasley and Bill would be pointing there right now.

"I'm not concerned," Fleur said. She looked at each member of the table in turn, defiant of their fear.

"Not concerned?" Ginny said. Outwardly she looked fairly calm, but for her hand holding her knife in a vice-like grip. Harry thought that Fleur ought to choose her next words with great care.

"Bill is one of the most talented wizards I know. And the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. I would be more worried for whoever is fool enough to cross them," Fleur said.

Ginny loosened her grip on the knife and nodded once. It was curt, but some of her fear seemed assuaged. Ron settled as well, but the twins looked less convinced. They wouldn't do anything to discomfort their siblings though, Harry knew.

Mrs. Weasley bustled back into the room and took her place at the table, trying, and failing, to look as if nothing was the matter. As if everything was ordinary and they could just go on eating the meal.

Harry felt an irrational guilt. He had been wishing for nothing but for Bill to leave, to go away and never come back, so that he wouldn't have to stare at him with Fleur anymore, and now he had. He had gone and thrust himself into danger while Harry sat at a full table enjoying a home-cooked Christmas breakfast. The food in his mouth tasted like blood and death. Harry felt like a coward.

Though he would likely never be able to bury the resentment that he held toward Bill (justified or not), Harry could at least acknowledge that he was a true Weasley. Not a word of complaint as he rushed off to the Order's aid on Christmas morning.

There was the occasional scrap of a utensil on plate, but apart from Fleur, who was eating with more vehemence than Harry had ever seen before, the rest of the table was taking only the most sporadic bite of food.

Christmas seemed all but lost. Then Ron got a strange expression on his face, which cycled through a series of emotions before settling on fear. Pure, unadulterated, fear.

"Fred, George…" Ron said, before he covered his hands over his mouth, his face turned a sickly pale, and he vomited a strange fluorescent green goo over a quarter of the table.

Even Fred and George seemed speechless for a moment. Then they turned to each other, nodded solemnly, and George said, "Reaction time was even faster than we expected. Greater mass expulsed as well."

"It could use a few more test runs but I do think that this one will be a hit," Fred said.

"Perfect for pranking and getting out of school."

"It'll practically sell itself."

To Harry's surprise, it was Fleur who reacted next. She laughed. It wasn't dignified, or forced, or even slightly sarcastic. Harry started laughing as well. He couldn't help himself. Ron looked miserable, Mrs. Weasley was clearly building up to a grand rant, Ginny had her mouth covered, trying not to smile, and he and Fleur weren't even able to somewhat control their laughter.

"Before you say anything, I'd just like to remind you that none of this would have been possible without Harry," Fred said.

"In a way, he's got as much responsibility for Ron throwing up on your delicious breakfast as Ron does," George said.

"You're trying to blame Ron and Harry for this? You're really going to pretend that this wasn't completely your fault? I see that living on your own hasn't made either of you more mature than you were when you left. This is utterly disgraceful behavior, and in front of Harry and Fleur nonetheless. They deserve better than to have their Christmas morning ruined because of one of your juvenile pranks!"

Harry stopped listening once it became clear that Mrs. Weasley wasn't going to stop anytime soon. Her lectures were like boulders going down a hill; once she picked up some momentum the best thing to do was just to get out of her way as soon as possible.

"How're you feeling?" Harry asked Ron.

Ron looked at him, the paleness gone from his face, and said, "Not bad at all. But I thought if I pretended to be feeling sick then she'd ignore me and go for them."

"Smart," Harry said.

"Anyone want some egg?" Ginny asked. She held up a wide plate of egg that had been given a generous dusting of the green goop that the twins had come up with.

"What exactly is this?" Fleur said, poking at a small puddle of the stuff with her wand.

"No idea. It doesn't smell like anything though," Ginny said.

"It tastes absolutely foul though. Like every one of Bertie Bott's beans you hate mixed together," Ron said.

"That's a brilliant idea," George said, having been paying about as much attention to Mrs. Weasley as the rest of them had.

"We'd have to figure out the licensing details with that," Fred said.

"I'm sure there are ways around that sort of thing," George said.

"We'll have to talk to our lawyers."

"I thought that they didn't want to see us again after last time."

"I'm sure they've forgiven us by now. It's now every day you get the honor of testing out a new product from Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes."

"Unless you're Ron," George said.

"Unless you're Ron," Fred said.

"You've been testing your products on your lawyers?" Mrs. Weasley asked. She looked to be near tears. Then she started mumbling something about Azkaban, the Weasley family name, and disowning troublemakers. It was all rather odd, Harry thought.

"I'll clear the plates," Fleur said. Mrs. Weasley was still talking to herself, her heads on the side of her head as she stared at Fred and George like they had crawled out of the darkest pit of hell. For once, even Fred and George looked concerned.

With a few twists of her wand, Fleur sent the dirty plates sailing into the kitchen, where they began the laborious task of emptying themselves into the garbage and scrubbing themselves off. There had to be two dozen objects moving simultaneously; some of which were animated and some of which were being levitated.

"I think I've lost my appetite," Ron said.

"We ate earlier," Fred said.

"I'm not going to let all of this go to waste. Ron only ruined part of it," Ginny said.

Harry was tempted to agree with her, but caution held him back. The last thing he wanted to do was accidentally eat something that Ron's goo had touched. Ginny had a stronger stomach than him if she was willing to risk it.

A deep chime reverberated through the house, loud enough to have woken even Ron if he had been sleeping. The sound remained in the air for a few seconds, not echoing but instead just hanging, as if waiting for the proper moment to disperse, and then the Burrow fell silent again.

"That's the wards. Someone's here," Mrs. Weasley said. Someone who wasn't keyed into the wards went unsaid.

"We'll go look," Fred said. He and George stood before Mrs. Weasley could protest and made their way into the kitchen toward the door, their wands readied at their sides.

They were out of sight but Harry could hear them shuffling along the floor. They stilled near the door, and a minute later George called out, "It's Percy. And he brought the Minister of Magic."

Mrs. Weasley stood so suddenly her chair was flung behind her, as if she had been struck with a bolt of lightning, and she dashed for the door, pulling it open with Ron, Harry, and Ginny following behind her at a more conventional pace.

"Percy," Mrs. Weasley said, pulling him into a hug. He was wearing standard Ministry robes, pressed to perfection, and shot a glance to the Minister as soon as his mother embraced him, as if to see whether or not the Minister deemed that appropriate. The Minister was staring at Harry.

Harry had looked into the eyes of Voldemort. He didn't think of himself as being easily intimidated. That being said, Rufus Scrimgeour had the eyes of a predator. They were tinged a sickly yellow, as if jaundiced, and they took in every detail of Harry with immaculate precision.

"I was wondering if I might be able to speak to Mr. Potter," Scrimgeour said.

Mrs. Weasley pulled back from Percy, taking in Scrimgeour for the first time. "We were having our Christmas breakfast." The reproach in her tone was unmissable.

"So Percy told me. He was working early this morning in the office and I insisted that he come and join his family for Christmas. Today, at least, work can wait. He was kind enough to invite me along and I thought I'd stop by for a moment, to meet the family of one of the Ministry's rising stars."

Every word was pitch perfect. If it all hadn't been so obviously implausible, Harry might have believed him.

"You're welcome to join us for breakfast, Minister Scrimgeour," Mrs. Weasley said. Harry wished that Fleur hadn't been so quick to dispose of the ruined plates.

"That's very kind of you but I've already eaten. I was hoping that someone could give me a tour of the house. Perhaps Mr. Potter? Sometimes an outsiders perspective is best. We notice things that people who live here take for granted," Scrimgeour said.

"I'm not sure," Mrs. Weasley started to say.

"I think the Minister is quite right. In fact, I think that I'll go with them. After all, Harry and I are the only outsiders here," Fleur said. She was leaning against the doorway, her face cold and haughty as she looked at Scrimgeour.

The Minister didn't deny her request but he didn't look pleased either. Harry thought he was likely wishing he had chosen his words with more care. No doubt Percy hadn't told him that Fleur was likely to be there as well. If Percy had even known.

"It would be my pleasure," Scrimgeour said.

Fleur walked up to Scrimgeour, taking Harry's arm as she did so, and inserted herself as a buffer between the two of them, leading them away from the house and toward the far side of the grounds where Harry was sure there was nothing but weeds and the shed.

"Percy looks far too thin. He should be offered some breakfast," Fleur called back over her shoulder to the watching Weasleys. Mrs. Weasley hurried her children inside, and, with one look behind her at Harry, shut the door to the Burrow.

Then, satisfied that the three of them were alone, Fleur launched into the most boring description of the Burrow that Harry had ever seen; she included the genus and species of every flower and weed she knew, speculations as to the type of trees on the grounds, a short theory of the behavior of garden gnomes, and a long digression on the charms that went into keeping the Burrow habitable.

After spending months studying with Fleur, Harry wasn't sure that he understood more than half of what she was saying. At first, Scrimgeour tried feigning interest, asking polite questions that Harry knew were designed to move the conversation more toward what he was looking for. Fleur misinterpreted every question and led Scrimgeour even further down conversational dead ends. If Harry hadn't been pretending to take Fleur seriously, hanging on every word and nodding at the appropriate moments, he wouldn't have been able to contain his laughter.

"If I may interject, Ms. Delacour, none of that is exactly why I'm here," Scrimgeour said, after being subjected to a fifteen minute lecture on the rumored healing properties of a common household shrub.

"Oh. I thought you wanted a tour," Fleur said. There was a cutting edge to her tone and Harry couldn't stifle a short snort. Scrimgeour's eyes flickered over to him for a moment before returning to meet Fleur's.

"Actually, I came to speak with Harry. Reuniting estranged family members was only a bonus," Scrimgeour said.

"What did you want to talk about?" Harry asked.

"You, and your role in this war," Scrimgeour said.

"He's a student at Hogwarts. He doesn't have a role in this war," Fleur said.

Harry was going to object, but Scrimgeour spoke first. "Not a combat role, to be sure. But his title carries great weight in this country. The-Boy-Who-Lived. The only person to ever survive the Killing Curse. The infant who vanquished Voldemort. So far Harry has been silent and the people of this country have been running scared. The Dark Lord is unopposed except by the Ministry and Dumbledore's vigilante group."

"And you want me to do what, support the Ministry? After how you had me slandered in the paper, called me mad and turned most of my schoolmates against me?" Harry said.

"Grow up," Scrimgeour said. Harry stopped walking. He glared at Scrimgeour and the Minister met his gaze without flinching. "This is about more than you and your ego. Fudge was an incompetent and a buffoon and he caused irreparable damage to this country. Your bruised self-esteem is nothing to what the war against the Dark Lord is going to cost this country. The support that you give the Ministry will save lives, lend us credibility in the fight."

"If the Ministry is relying on Harry's support then that has to mean things aren't going well," Fleur said.

"You're in Dumbledore's vigilante group, so you likely already know that unless things change, and soon, then the Ministry will fall within the year," Scrimgeour said. He was ostensibly talking to Fleur but his eyes were on Harry.

Not letting his reaction show, Harry said, "What could I possibly do to change that?"

"Recruitment for the aurors is at an all-time low. People are cowering instead of fighting back. The Dark Lord has already regained nearly all the strength he had at his peak during the First War, and we have only a fraction of our former strength. Our most capable duelists are either dead or retired, and those that aren't are having enough trouble just getting the few recruits that we have mustered up to speed. You could change that."

"How?" Harry asked.

Fleur spoke. "By being a figurehead. By lending your credibility, your reputation as the one who vanquished You-Know-Who, to the Ministry."

"I'm not that important. My reputation was ruined after the smear campaign they ran against me," Harry said.

"You are and it wasn't. Once you were proven right your reputation was restored and the Ministry's sank to the lowest it's been in decades. That's part of the reason we're having so much trouble recruiting. People don't trust us anymore. Who would want to fight for an incompetent bureaucracy?"

"I don't," Harry said.

Scrimgeour moved forward, putting himself only a few inches away from Harry. It was meant to be intimidating and it was working. Harry saw Fleur's fingers tense toward her wand. "Let me put it this way. How many people do you think will die if the Dark Lord wins? Dozens? Hundreds? Thousands? How many muggles tortured in their homes, or muggleborns attacked by dementors, before the number is high enough for you to regret not helping when you could?"

Harry took an involuntary step back. Scrimgeour was right. In the face of war, who was he to be petty over his reputation, or even over ideals. If Voldemort wasn't stopped then people, both those he cared about and those he didn't even know, would die. Countless lives lost. There was no chance that he could live with himself if he stood by and let that happen.

There was also a more selfish, practical reason to help the Ministry. If Dumbledore was right, and it really was going to be a battle between him and Voldemort, then Harry thought that having the Ministry around might tilt the odds in his favor.

"What do you want me to do?" Harry asked.

"The first thing would be to write a letter. I'll have it published by the Daily Prophet. In it you'll lay out your support for the Ministry, write some inspiring things about the fight against the Dark Lord, and then declare your intention to become an auror to help fight the Dark Lord after you graduate from Hogwarts. It'll be printed on the front page. Then we'll bring you into the Ministry to meet the aurors, hold some publicized training sessions with them. Those will get put into the Daily Prophet as well. Hopefully that'll be enough to start up a new recruitment drive."

"Harry isn't going to do this for nothing," Fleur said.

"Saving lives is nothing now?" Scrimgeour said.

Fleur just looked at him, less than moved. "No more interfering with the Order of the Phoenix," Fleur said.

"You're a vigilante group. The optics of the Ministry being unable to control its own citizens is terrible. I can't just let your group run rampant," Scrimgeour said.

"Then change how it looks. I don't care. The fact of the matter is you're overwhelmed and understaffed and the Order can help with that, but only if you don't get in our way."

Scrimgeour closed his eyes for a second, let out a long breath, and then said, "Acceptable."

"I want to be exempt from the restriction for underage magic," Harry said.

Without even hesitating, Scrimgeour said, "Done."

Harry looked at Fleur to see if she had any more suggestions but she shook her head. She looked pleased so Harry figured they had done about as well as they possibly could.

Scrimgeour stuck out his hand and Harry gave it a quick, unenthusiastic shake. Despite the necessity of the agreement it still struck him as somehow being dirty. Scrimgeour wasn't the sort of person that Harry was willing to trust.

"I'll forward a letter to you with further instructions and dates for your visits," Scrimgeour said. "Your other requests will be implemented starting tomorrow."

"Thank you, Minister," Harry said.

"I hope you enjoyed your tour of the Burrow, Minister," Fleur said, her voice sweet and lilting.

Scrimgeour just grunted and walked back to the Burrow, letting himself back into the house without knocking.

"I don't think he liked your tour," Harry said.

"I got the same impression, though I can't imagine why. Some people just don't appreciate the smaller details that go into maintaining a house," Fleur said.

"The part about the weeds that are growing around here was a nice touch. I didn't know you knew so much about flowers."

"I know nothing about flowers. I was making all of that up. Scrimgeour lasted longer than I thought he would."

"Ah."

Scrimgeour strode out of the Burrow, the door walloping the side of the house in his wake, while Percy hurried behind him, clutching a stack of parcels that rose to his head, each cloaked in Mrs. Weasleys sharp red wrapping paper.

"I think Percy got more presents than I did," Harry said.

"Just do something incredibly rash and stupid, like estranging yourself from the Weasleys, and the presents will come rolling in," Fleur said.

"If only I had thought of that," Harry said.

Percy and Scrimgeour disapparated with a final crack. Fleur and Harry lazed their way over to the Burrow.

"No role in the war, huh?" Harry said.

"I don't think Scrimgeour would have liked it if I suggested putting our precious Boy-Who-Lived on the front lines. Sometimes you have to say exactly what they're expecting you to say; what they want you to say," Fleur said.

"You'll help me read over Scrimgeour's letter when it comes then?" Harry asked.

"Of course."

"Thanks, Fleur. For helping me out there. Something about Scrimgeour just seems…off."

"He's a dangerous kind of person. From what I've heard he's a talented duelist and a political animal, all in one. You're right to be wary of him," Fleur said.

The Weasleys seemed to have mixed feelings about Percy's return. Sitting back down at the table, Harry saw that Ron looked guarded, Ginny tentatively optimistic, the twins as if they had just managed to restrain themselves from hexing him, and Harry hadn't seen Mrs. Weasley so happy since they had found out Mr. Weasley was going to pull through after Nagini attacked him.

"How's Percy doing?" Harry asked. It would be better to be polite than to ignore what had just happened, he thought.

"Just as much of a git as ever," Fred said. George nodded.

"Your brother is under a tremendous amount of stress and still managed to find time to visit," Mrs. Weasley said. Her rejoinder lacked its usual flair, sounding instead like a forced obligation. She may have been happy to see Percy but she wasn't fooling herself about him.

Ron looked disgusted at the idea of defending him. "He showed up because Scrimgeour needed an alibi to talk to Harry," he said.

"What did the Minster want to talk about?" Ginny asked.

Harry looked to Fleur but she had a blank expression on. "He wanted my support. To write something in the Daily Prophet supporting the Ministry, to make a couple of visits to the Ministry, and a few other small things. Just to show people that I'm on the Ministry's side and that there aren't any hard feelings."

"And you told him where he could stick that idea, right?" George said.

"Not exactly…" Harry said.

"The Minister made a persuasive argument for Harry's support. He also agreed to multiple concessions in regard to the Order's role in the fight against You-Know-Who," Fleur said. She cast a meaningful glance at Mrs. Weasley whose evident disappointment in Harry's decision abated somewhat.

"Concessions? Like what?" Ron asked.

"That's nothing to concern yourself with, Ronald. It's official Order business," Mrs. Weasley said.

Ron mumbled something that sounded like, "It's not like Harry won't just tell me later anyway."

"What did Scrimgeour say to make you change your mind?" Ginny asked.

Harry didn't want to answer that question. It was Christmas. Scrimgeour had brought a storm into the Weasley household but it had, so far, been contained by Harry and Fleur. To tell them the danger that the Ministry was in, the precipitous balance they were treading, would be to shatter any hope of a peaceful Christmas that they had left.

But lying wasn't an option either. After being left in the dark for years, told only scraps of what he wanted to know, needed to know, Harry wasn't about to do that to the others. Ron and Ginny deserved to know about the war that their family was fighting. In the long run, they weren't any safer than Bill or Mr. Weasley.

"He said that without help, the Ministry will fall within the year. He reminded me of how many people would die if I chose to be petty and not help. He said that this was about more than just me. He was right. If I withhold all the help that I can give just because I'm bitter about the way I was treated, or afraid of associating with these kinds of people, then I'm no better than Fudge or anyone else who tried to hide from the truth instead of confronting it."

Mrs. Weasley and the twins didn't look surprised. No doubt all of the Order members were well aware of how fragile the situation was. Ron and Ginny didn't maintain their composure. Ron's face whitened and he gripped his fork with tremendous force, while Ginny's eyes widened with panic. The Ministry was a bedrock for them. It had been around for their whole lives, survived countless wars, persevered through hundreds of years of history; and now it was being brought down by a single man. Even the Minister of Magic thought it was only a matter of time.

"That's…bad," Ron said.

"What happens when the Ministry falls?" Ginny asked. She looked toward her mother, then to the twins, and then even to Fleur. No one said anything.

"The Ministry isn't going to fall. The Order is going to be able to work freely now and I'm going to help the Ministry to stay afloat, get some more people into their training programs, make people want to fight back against Voldemort. We're not losing this war anytime soon," Harry said.

"And there have been some promising responses from abroad. It's not inconceivable that the Ministry or the Order could be receiving support from the continent at some point soon," Fleur said.

"The point is there's nothing to worry about," Mrs. Weasley said. "Let's just try to enjoy our Christmas breakfast; or what's left of it, after Ron decided to undo all the hard work I put into it." She squinted an eye at Ron who shrugged, as if he was fine with being blamed but wanted everyone to know it was out of his control.

"Politics makes me lose my appetite," Harry said.

Fleur scoffed and pushed a bowl of porridge to him. "You barely touched your breakfast. Eat something. You wouldn't want to waste any of the food that Molly spent hours preparing for you," she said.

"You just like toying with people," Harry said, covering his mouth with a spoonful of porridge so that Mrs. Weasley wouldn't hear him.

"Everything I do, I do for you," Fleur said. She took a dainty bite out of a piece of generously buttered toast.

The rest of the Weasleys turned back to the food and tried to turn back the wave of creeping anxiety that Scrimgeour's visit had provoked. Light conversation spouted up every now and then but none were under the illusion that breakfast could really be salvaged.

* * *

The moon was bleak. It cast a reluctant light on the Burrow, illuminating a pair of garden gnomes wrestling in a thicket of weeds, and spared a harsh beam for Harry, giving his skin a sallow, almost translucent appearance. He took another swig from the wine bottle.

Bill and Mr. Weasley hadn't returned from whatever Dumbledore had asked them to do. There hadn't been any word from them. Two days of nothing. Mrs. Weasley didn't say it but everyone in the house could tell that she was on edge.

Fleur told him that it was standard procedure for Order members to send their families some word if it looked like their mission was going to go longer than originally expected. It was unusual for the two of them to have sent nothing.

Despite the odd circumstances, Fleur clung tenaciously to her faith in Bill's skills. She professed to be unconcerned and said that she knew that they were fine. It was a façade, of course, but it was an effective one. Harry could see that it made Mrs. Weasley feel better and the two of them were spending more time together than ever before, bonding through their mutual concealed worries. Fleur had told him that they had written Dumbledore asking him when the two would be home but that he had simply sent a short reply back saying that he couldn't tell them anything and that he was sorry, but that he was positive they were both alright.

With most of the Weasleys out of the house, the Burrow had become quite depressing. Harry spent most of his time talking to Fleur, their easy repartee settling back into its usual pace since Bill was gone. But those conversations had lost their charm for Harry. He felt fettered by having to spend all of his time in the Burrow. Talking to Fleur, desiring her, when she was worried about Bill made him feel filthy, like he was unworthy to be around her or any of the other Weasleys. He felt selfish, and cruel, and mean, and so he ran away and spent as much time on his own as he could.

The roof of the Burrow had become his point of voluntary exile. When the feelings grew too powerful, and too mystifying, Harry could ascend to the roof and leave the buzzing confusions behind him.

There wasn't enough moonlight to read. Harry let the novel next to him sit forgotten. He wasn't able to focus on it anyway.

Instead he sat and imagined taking his broom and flying away from the Burrow. On his Firebolt he doubted that Voldemort or any of his Death Eaters would be able to catch him. He could spend his life a flying fugitive, a vagabond sailing over oceans and cities and letting time, and the world, pass him by with a studious indifference.

If Harry was being honest with himself, he was never alone in those fantasies. Fleur would confront him before he left; somehow she would have figured out what he was planning to do and she wouldn't let him go through with it unless he took her along. They would fly away at night together, and she would have to hold on to him while they soared, and neither of them would mention Bill.

They were pleasant daydreams, but Harry shook them off as soon as he found himself slipping into them. He left Fleur and the Weasleys so that he could avoid thinking about them. The roof was a place to center himself, not dawdle in idle dreams.

Harry sighed. The garden gnomes finished their impromptu duel and fell asleep propped up against a side of the worn wooden fence. Harry didn't know what time it was. Judging from the moon's position it was late. The Burrow had fallen silent hours ago.

The sound of a door opening came from the attic, and then the soulful hammering from the ghoul. Harry wondered if Ron had finally figured out where he was hiding and had come to drag him down to bed.

The window opened and Fleur pulled herself through it, looked at Harry, and then sat down next to him.

"So this is where you've been disappearing to," she said.

"It's quiet up here. And peaceful," Harry said.

Fleur had a haunting loveliness in the moonlight; where it reflected harshly on Harry, it only served to accentuate the otherworldliness of her beauty. Her hair seemed to shine as if it had been spun from beams of moonlight and her eyes were lively even in the dim night. She was wearing a thick black robe and Harry could see her breath in the air.

"You've got to be freezing," Fleur said.

Harry had been cold hours ago. Eventually that had left him and he only had to tolerate a dull numbness. He could have cast a warming spell on himself but he never did; not out of any masochistic desire to punish himself, but rather out of a general sense of apathy toward the cold. As long as he didn't get frostbite he didn't care.

"I'm alright," Harry said. He didn't look at Fleur. The more he looked at her the harder it was to prevent himself from thinking about her. The more he looked at her the more she would figure in his dreams, both waking and not.

He could hear her fumbling with her wand and a pleasant warmth chased away the chill in Harry's body. Most variants of warming spells were initially unpleasant, either casting away the cold with unpleasant force and heat, or doing so in a slow, simmering burn that felt like Firewhiskey throughout the body. Fleur's wasn't like that. It was an indulgent embrace of heat.

"You won't be able to single-handedly save Britain if you die of hypothermia," Fleur said.

"I suppose not," Harry said. He wanted Fleur to go away. The more time she spent around him the more of an ingrate he felt. It had been different before he had seen her with Bill. Her engagement was an abstraction then, as insubstantial as one of his fantasies; but now that Harry had seen them together it was like watching a prefiguration of their future, and he could no longer casually brush off the thoughts and desires that seemed so much more harmless at Hogwarts.

Fleur poked his cheek. Harry started, and nearly went tumbling from the roof. His foot lashed out and knocked his bottle of wine off of the roof. It shattered with a tinkling noise on the lawn below.

"You poked me," he said, with a childlike disbelief.

"You're being moody. Stop. It's boring," Fleur said.

Harry settled back against the roof. He huffed and then waved a hand through the cloud that it produced.

"I've got my next assignment from Dumbledore," Fleur said. "He sent an owl. Wants me to rendezvous with the German ministry. He thinks that they might be amenable to some support. Financial if nothing else. Grindelwald isn't a distant memory there, apparently."

"When are you leaving?" Harry asked.

"The end of break," Fleur said.

They had a week left before their return to Hogwarts. A week he would have to spend near her. A week that he would spend pretending.

"You could at least act like you're upset," Fleur said.

"Why would I be upset? You're doing exactly what I wish I could be doing. You're being helpful, doing work for the Order, fighting back against Voldemort. I'm just sitting here," Harry said.

Fleur laid her head back on the roof. "Is this what you were like last year? Now I know why people avoided you."

"How would you know anything about that?" Harry asked.

"I talk to people at Hogwarts other than you. I like to get a feel for what's going on, even if you don't. And this moping, self-pitying act is painful to be around. Stop acting like you're not doing anything. Most of the older students at Hogwarts are on par with adult witches and wizards when it comes to defending themselves now. They would have never gotten to that point without you. And when I'm gone you'll be taking over the Dueling Club. So stop acting like you're not helping. There are only a handful of people who are doing more than you are right now."

She had rolled over, forcing eye contact with Harry while she spoke. He was blushing but he doubted she could tell. His cheeks had gone red hours ago.

"I know that's not what's bothering you, Harry. Because I know you. And if not being involved was what was really bothering you then you'd be battering down Dumbledore's door or tripling the hours of the Dueling Club or obsessively learning the spells from the notebooks. Anything to make yourself feel useful. You haven't moped once since I've met you. Which means that this is something where you don't know what to do. This has nothing to do with You-Know-Who."

He wasn't apparating, yet he felt the same constriction pressing down all around him. Why was Fleur pushing so hard? She had to know. She couldn't not know. He knew he had been too obvious.

"Stop, Fleur," Harry said.

"Why are you upset, Harry?" Quiet, cajoling, bright blue eyes. Soft pursed lips. Unblemished skin. A moonlit vision.

"Because of you," Harry said. He didn't look at her, turning his eyes to the night sky. He could almost count the stars. One, two, three…

"Why am I upsetting you, Harry?" Fleur asked. Same soft tone. But decisive. Fearless. He envied her and hated her and wanted her in that moment, a confusing miasma of emotion that made his extremities tingle, like a panicked flight-or-fight response.

"Because I love you," Harry said.

There was a second where it seemed that the entire night had gone still, the stars had been extinguished, and the world reduced to their small shared space on the top of the Burrow. Harry turned on his side to look at Fleur. He didn't want to, but he had to know what she was thinking.

Harry wasn't sure what he had been expecting. Surprise, perhaps. Discomfort. Maybe, if this were a dream, happiness.

There was nothing but a unobtrusive sadness. Not exactly pity, but close enough that Harry felt the slightest pang of frustration. Pity was the worst of it. He could stand for anything but Fleur's pity.

"I'm engaged, Harry," Fleur said.

(Fleur was engaged. Fleur was engaged to his best friend's brother.)

He hadn't revealed the whole of himself, the most vulnerable, terrible, inner thoughts he had only to be turned away by such an insufficient statement. A true statement, but too clunky and meaningless to stop him.

"That doesn't mean anything," Harry said. He kept calm, divorced himself from any petulance or fear. He wasn't a child. He could talk to Fleur without sounding like one.

"Engagement doesn't mean anything?" Fleur asked.

"You've teased me, flirted with me. Nothing you do is unintentional. You drank with me, stripped in front of me, taught me, learned from me; we've spent more time together in the last couple of months than with anyone else. You've told me things about yourself that you've never told anyone and asked me things I've never told anyone before. So you can't just say, 'I'm engaged,' as if that settles things. It doesn't mean anything."

Fleur was meeting his gaze, but Harry thought he saw some indecision. Some hesitance which prevented her from saying what she thought she should say.

"We're friends, Harry. Friends share things with each other; even tease each other sometimes," Fleur said.

"Not like you did with me. You can't just pretend that any of that was trivial," Harry said.

"Why are you pushing this?" Fleur asked.

"Because you haven't said that you don't care about me," Harry said.

He found her hands wrapped up in the sleeves of her robes, extracting them with a coaxing gentleness and brushing his fingertips against the knuckles, and then down to the tips. He threaded his fingers through hers and she complied. His hand was freezing, even to him, but she accepted it.

He gained strength and courage through pushing forward. "I love you, Fleur. And I can't pretend that I know exactly what you feel for me, but you wouldn't have done all of that with me, trusted me like you did, if you felt nothing," Harry said.

It hurt her not to be in control. She was as shaken as he had ever seen, like a ship that was slowing being tilted on its axis until it would crash into the deafening waves below. She was cracking and he was watching her and helping to push her closer to the edge.

Theirs was not an equal relationship. Harry knew that. She was older, beautiful, smarter, even more articulate than he was. He needed her more than she needed him. But that didn't mean she didn't need him.

"Look where we are, Harry. Look what you're trying to get me to say," Fleur said.

"I love you," Harry said. She didn't say anything so he repeated himself.

A pause.

"I can't say that back, Harry. But I love being around you. I love spending time with you," Fleur said.

Harry squeezed her hand. It wasn't what he wished for, but it was more than he had any right to expect

Fleur made up the distance between them, letting herself rest against him, her body tangling carelessly with his.

"You're a bastard," Fleur said.

Harry tilted her head up. He didn't have to hide his delight in her anymore. When he kissed her, she kissed him back.

It was better than he had expected. The softness, the warmth, that he had been able to anticipate.

The feeling behind it, the tenderness of emotion, was something he couldn't have imagined. It had to be experienced.

"Guess I'm not as bad as you keep saying," Harry said.

"Just stop talking," Fleur said. Her voice was muffled as she leaned her face against Harry's chest. He could feel her breath against his robes.

Harry knew they would have to talk soon. Things needed to be said, boundaries established, their relationship elaborated upon. But for the moment he was content.

He hadn't ever thought it possible that he would have Fleur curled up against him. It had never been more than a painful dream and now that it was a reality Harry could say that he had never been happier. It was a cliché, a phrase that had been trammeled to death before he was even born, but now Harry understood why it was used. A cliché that came close to expressing the ineffability of love was a precious thing.

Though he had always worried about his reaction to Fleur, his inevitable response to her beauty, laying next to her he could ignore the part of his mind that was pushing for him to press his luck, to touch her more deliberately. There wasn't anything sexual about the way she was laying against him. It was a mutual expression of comfort, the realization of months of shared daydreams and hopes.

It was late before Fleur spoke again. Her Warming Charm had worn off hours earlier but Harry hadn't been willing to shift to reach his wand. The feel of her against him was worth the sting of the cold. He had almost thought that she was asleep, and that he would need to wake her. There was something about the idea that appealed to him.

"How long have you loved me?" Fleur asked.

"Since I told you about Dumbledore's notebooks," Harry said. There wasn't any hesitation on his part; he had thought through that moment dozens of times since it happened. Even dreamed about it.

"Not so long then," Fleur said. She didn't sound upset, merely interested.

"I think it's been longer than that. I just wasn't willing to think about it. To think about us like that," Harry said.

"Why?" Fleur asked.

Harry knew better than to give that the first answer that sprang to mind. He didn't want to sway her. Because it's wrong, he thought? Because you're engaged? Because there's a war going on? There were more reasons for them to be apart than together. Other than the fact that he loved her.

"I've never been in love before. It was strange at first," Harry said.

Fleur shifted until her lips were brushing against the crook of his neck, her legs intertwined with his, her chest pressing hard against his. It was entirely more pleasant and intimate than their last position had been.

When she spoke her breath was hot against his ear. "It never gets less strange. Not if you stop to think about it."

"So I should stop thinking about it?" Harry asked. He let a hand touch down on the small of her back, hovering just for a moment, and then, when she said nothing, didn't shift at all, he let it rest there. His other hand remained loose at his side. He still hadn't decided where it was supposed to go.

"I wouldn't say that. Sometimes thinking about love is the best part. It can be addictive," Fleur said.

He didn't want to say it. It would ruin everything. Like knocking a star out of its orbit, sending it crashing to a catastrophic and ignoble death.

"What about Bill? Do you love him?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Fleur said.

Harry waited for her to go on. She sighed, but did.

"I love him in a different way than I feel about you. He's different than you are. More confident, more experienced, less thoughtful, less concerned about the people around him," Fleur said.

Harry could ignore how that made him feel. He was in pursuit of something more important than ego gratification. And he would never expect Fleur to hold back on what she was thinking for his sake.

"What about your engagement?" Harry asked.

There was a long pause. The longest pause Harry had ever felt. The castle had shifted on the sand below and he was waiting to see if it would tumble to pieces.

"Let me give you a headline, Harry. Boy-Who-Lives seduced by French veela. Or another one? Boy-Who-Lived seduces engaged woman."

"The Daily Prophet wouldn't run that. They're on our side now," Harry said. He was lying. If they wouldn't run it someone else would. Someone would find out. His reputation, the reputation buoying the Ministry, would be broken. Fleur would be disgraced.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Fleur said.

"So what are we?" Harry asked. His voice was strange. Fleur's presence on his chest had gone from an arousing warmth to an almost crushing sensation. He wanted anything but to have this laid out in front of him so coldly.

"We're friends. Friends who comfort each other. Friends who care deeply for each other," Fleur said. If Harry hadn't known her so well he would have missed the melancholy.

"I don't give a damn about the Daily Prophet," Harry said suddenly. It was true. He could already see it. They would leave Britain. Perhaps for France, or for America. New identities, new looks. It wouldn't be hard. There weren't many people who were better at charms and transfiguration than Fleur. And he still had Dumbledore's notebooks. There was bound to be something about human transfiguration in them.

"We could leave, Britain," Harry said. His mind continued to flash through the possibilities, like a film reel in his brain. Each scene was fraught with dangers but, tinging every moment was a sepia-hued dreamy happiness.

It would hurt the Weasleys, hurt Hermione, but he could do that. For once, he could be selfish. For Fleur.

"We can't leave," Fleur said. Her hand was rubbing his chest now, like she was soothing a beast caught in a trap.

"Why not?" Harry asked.

"Because you're a hero," Fleur said.

What could he say to that? Deny it? He didn't even understand what she was saying. He wasn't a hero. He was a Hogwarts student who had gotten lucky when so many better witches and wizards hadn't.

Fleur continued. "You could never leave people who needed your help behind, no matter how much you think you could right now. The guilt would destroy you one day."

"What then? What do we do?" Harry asked.

"We enjoy being with each other. Quietly. For as long as we can," Fleur said.

"That's so little," Harry said. So little when compared to his new dreams.

"It's better than nothing," Fleur said. She laid her head back down on his chest and they stayed like that for hours. Until the sun rose a bloody red in the sky.


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: Thanks to the people at DLP who looked over this chapter for me, and for their encouragement along the way. Not only would this story be garbage without them, it would probably also be abandoned.**

 **Chapter XI**

"Now you understand why I had you bring Professor Slughorn out of retirement. While his potions skills are undeniable, it's his past that makes him such a valuable asset. And target. His memories are one of the greatest, and only, threats to Voldemort's existence. One memory in particular."

The memory swirled in the pensieve as innocuously as any other. It gave no sign that it was little more than a crude forgery.

Dumbledore, by contrast, couldn't conceal his limitations; he gave off the air of a man who was fast flagging. The lines on his face had grown deep which, when combined with his increasingly sickly pallor and shaking hand, made him seem a better candidate for an extended stay at St. Mungo's than the head of a school and vigilante organization. If not for his grandiose reputation, which even the Prophet and Ministry together had been unable to destroy, Harry thought that Dumbledore would have been asked to step down months ago. Even the most unobservant student couldn't fail to notice his failing health now.

Fawkes rested on his perch. He was in the full splendor of his youth, with crimson gold feathers that caught the light and seemed to be blessed with an inner fiery nimbus. His eyes, Harry noticed, tracked Dumbledore's every movement, no matter how minute, as a worried parent watches their child. Every so often his eyes would flash, only for a moment, to the arm that Dumbledore had hidden within the folds of his robes.

"You want me to get this memory from Professor Slughorn," Harry said.

"Horace refuses me because he knows the desperation with which I seek this memory. You are not subject to the same suspicion, and I believe that he harbors a fondness for you that he does not for me. You've already demonstrated your ability to cajole him into things he would otherwise refuse."

"But won't he be suspicious as soon as I start asking about Riddle?"

"There is little advice that I can give you for this task. Had I been able to accomplish this through any means short of force I would have done so already," Dumbledore said.

"I'll do my best, professor," Harry said.

"This memory is the last puzzle piece to understanding Tom Riddle's search for immortality. Until you obtain it there is nothing more for me to teach you."

"I won't let you down."

"Of course." Dumbledore switched to a more pleasant voice, marking the end of their official business for the night. "And how were your holidays? I was remiss in not asking earlier. Or in thanking you for your gift. I haven't been blessed with such a colorful pair of socks in decades."

The pair that Harry had chosen were a shocking green that shouted out the names of different exotic candies every time that wearer took a step. The fact that Dumbledore had received an even more lurid pair of socks before made him question the kind of company the headmaster kept.

"Not a problem, professor. My holidays were…good," Harry said.

Fleur on the roof. Her body against his. His frustration when Bill returned.

"Time spent with those most precious to us is truly magical," Dumbledore said.

Harry nodded and, before his mind began to drift down a dangerous path, asked after Dumbledore's holiday.

"More excitement than I would have liked," Dumbledore said. "Tom hasn't attached much significance to Christmas in many years. However, I did manage to make the time for some traditions which demand to be kept."

Fawkes chirped, somewhat sadly, Harry thought.

"I did have one question before I leave, professor," Harry said.

"By all means."

"I've read through your notebooks a few times now and, in some spots, it seems like the handwriting changes. Along with the content. Like someone else was writing in them," Harry said. To say that the content changed was an understatement. The most violent, destructive spells in the notebooks, the theories that teetered on the edge of immoral, had all been penned by a different hand.

"I expected that you would notice that at some point," Dumbledore said. He leaned forward in his chair. His hand stopped shaking and he smiled, as if Harry had just answered a difficult question. "Those sections were written by Gellert Grindelwald."

Dumbledore said it so nonchalantly that Harry didn't react at first. There was a gulf between the words and the fact, which, when surmounted, only heightened Harry's disbelief.

"Gellert Grindelwald," Harry said. He tested the idea aloud, half-afraid, as if saying it would cement it into reality.

"I often think that my partiality toward forgiveness is nothing more than selfishness," Dumbledore said. "How could I forgive myself the mistakes of my youth if I were unwilling to extend the same opportunity to others?"

A morbid fascination with the idea began to sprout inside Harry. Dumbledore, working side-by-side with the fearsome Dark Lord. Did they argue like friends? Like rivals? How much of the notebooks was Dumbledore and how much had been tainted by Grindelwald? The idea that Harry had been learning as much at the feet of a Dark Lord as he had Dumbledore sent a chilling shiver through him which was only somewhat unpleasant.

"What happened?" Harry asked. It was too vague a question, but it was also the only one that came to mind. He was venturing onto the personal. Somewhere he had never gone with Dumbledore. But he couldn't stop himself from asking.

A Dumbledore that would support a Dark Lord was a Dumbledore he _had_ to understand.

"I was humbled," Dumbledore said. "And I lost something precious to me. I was not as strong as you are, Harry. It took a great loss to set me on the right path."

Dumbledore kept his answer as vague as Harry's question, yet it somehow still made Harry uneasy; hinting at a great, hidden evil was no less unsettling than that evil in its fullness.

"I prefer not to dwell on the past when the present offers so many interesting challenges of its own," Dumbledore said. His smile finally gave way to an unconcealable weariness.

Harry felt guilty for pressing him. Dumbledore's unconcern had clearly been a pretense.

"Sorry for keeping you, professor," Harry said. He stood.

"Not at all, Harry. What you're doing for the Order, and for this country, has earned you the right to ask an old man a few questions."

Fawkes trilled and Harry left with less surety of who Albus Dumbledore was than ever before.

* * *

"It's supposed to come out this morning, right?" Ron asked.

"That's what Scrimgeour told me," Harry said.

"I wish you had let me read it over before you sent it in," Hermione said.

They had arrived at breakfast just when the food was appearing on the tables. Hermione had shepherded them out of the tower amidst her fears that the op-ed would spell Harry's public demise. Harry thought that her worry was endearing. Ron, whose shirt was buttoned incorrectly and whose bedhead was particularly savage, was less forgiving of the abrupt wake-up call.

"Fleur helped me write it so I'm sure it'll be fine," Harry said.

"Knowing the Prophet you won't even recognize it. I bet they had some hack work it so that it sells," Ron said.

"I don't think they're worried about it selling," Harry said.

"English isn't even Fleur's first language." Hermione nibbled at the piece of toast on her plate, more out of an unchanneled nervousness than any real hunger.

Ron seemed perfectly at ease, loading his plate with his usual greasy fare and taking appreciative mouthfuls with mechanistic regularity. Harry waited with his arms crossed over his chest; his plate was empty.

Any disinterest Harry was showing was entirely feigned. He had only felt this level of nervousness a few times in his life. The piece in the Prophet was his national debut. People knew of the Boy-Who-Lived, they had been fed false stories and outrageous myths, but they had never seen his words. If people were going to take him seriously it would have to be now, Harry knew.

Their arrival in the Great Hall had far preceded that of the owls, so the three of them sat and waited. Hermione and Ron conversed in low tones, with Ron trying to calm Hermione down and redirect her racing mind onto less fraught subjects (though he was failing quite ably at that). Harry stared at each person entering the Great Hall, wondering what their reaction would be. Hogwarts would be his litmus test for the country at large.

It might have been a less crushing sensation, the waiting, if Fleur had been there to share it with him. The letter was their joint creation, a product of his ideals and her rhetoric, so it was strange to be waiting for the reaction without her. When it came, he felt like he would be unfairly assuming all of the blame or acclaim. Harry would almost rather suffer through recrimination with Fleur than be showered with approval without her.

When the Great Hall was half-full the Prophet arrived. The owls descended like a swarm of locust; dozens of them, of every conceivable size and shape, all bearing the ubiquitous crest of the Prophet on their delivery pouches. A small tawny owl landed in front of Hermione and puffed out its chest to await payment. Hermione deposited the money hurriedly and snatched a copy of the paper out of the owl's pouch, jarring it in the process.

That, along with the lack of the usual breakfast tribute, led the owl to give a huff and steal Hermione's half-eaten toast before flying off with its flock. She didn't notice. Her eyes roamed the front page of the paper avidly. Ron was trying look over Hermione's shoulder to read the paper but Hermione was so hunched over it that he quickly gave it up as an impossibility.

"Do you think we could read it too?" Ron asked.

They didn't receive a response.

"She isn't screaming," Harry said.

"Or huffing," Ron said.

"It must be good then."

"One of the best things she's ever read."

"I was pretty pleased with it, myself."

"Fleur must be a fantastic editor."

"I never get any credit."

Abruptly, Hermione let the Prophet slip from her grasp and fall onto the table. Harry could just make out a flattering picture of him before Ron snatched it up.

"Well?" Harry asked.

"It's not bad. I think people will like it. Especially people who don't know you," Hermione said.

Ron seemed to concur as well. He was grinning as he handed the paper to Harry. The op-ed was almost exactly the final draft that he had sent into the Prophet. They had excised a few loose sentences here and there, and tweaked some of his phrasing, but the message remained the same. Harry was pleasantly surprised.

"This is pretty much what I wrote," he said.

The Great Hall wasn't full yet but the students were already passing around the Prophet and taking conspicuous glances toward Harry. His hard-won intuitive sense for the public mood told him that the glances weren't negative. Curious, approving, and, on the faces of the younger students, bordering on the worshipful, but none of the glances held the venom of a rebuke or anger. Years of oscillating between public adoration and scorn told Harry that this was a very good reaction.

"Some of them are looking at you like they want you to stand up and give a speech," Ron said.

"Mostly the younger ones," Hermione said.

As the Prophet made its way around the hall the noise increased until the entire room was utterly abuzz. Even the staff seemed entranced by the paper. McGonagall had been reading and rereading it since she had arrived. Flitwick and Sprout were sharing a copy, using it as cover to hide their faces while they spiritedly discussed it.

Hagrid didn't have a copy in front of him. He looked out on the rambunctious students with a carefree smile. As far as Harry could tell, Hagrid had no idea that there was anything out of the ordinary.

"I wonder if this will actually do anything," Hermione said.

"It will. People look up to the legend of the Boy-Who-Lived. Even after the mud the Prophet slung at him last year he's still the biggest name in Britain," Ron said. He had an uncharacteristically intense expression.

"We'll see," Harry said. Ron's confidence was flattering but Harry wouldn't be so quick to pronounce his victory. The public was fickle. Even if they liked his letter there was no guarantee that it would translate into results. Until Scrimgeour gave him the updated recruitment numbers he would withhold judgement.

Harry took another look at the faculty table. He knew she wouldn't be there but he was still disappointed when all he saw was her empty chair. Fleur had been away on Order business ever since they had gotten back to school. She wouldn't know whether or not the letter she had helped him with would be a success until she got back.

He felt a strange loneliness when he looked at her empty chair. It had only been days since he had last seen her, yet her absence seemed unusually sharp. Despite being surrounded by people -his classmates, friends, and teachers – it all seemed dreadfully shallow without her, like a cheap imitation that was so crass it bordered on the offensive.

When Harry stared at her chair it was almost like he could see her. She would be staring at the food with revulsion, no doubt lamenting the inferiority of English cuisine, while she ignored the hungry stares of the male students with her effortless poise. Then, after finally deciding on what seemed least offensive, she would fill her plate and finish her greetings to the other professors. If she were in a teasing mood she might even glance down at him with a look that seemed to express surprise that Harry was there in the first place.

It was routine played out dozens of times, yet each iteration was subjected to just the slightest permutation; enough for Harry to find it fascinating anew each and every time. He daydreamed about how it would change after the night they had shared.

"We should get out of here before people start mobbing you," Ron said. He was dutifully scanning the crowd like he could detect and analyze any threat before they appeared.

"You're right," Harry said.

Hermione wrapped up a few pieces of toast and tucked the Prophet under her arm. "Too late," she said.

Harry craned his head around. Neville was leading a pack of seventh years, all in the Dueling Club, over to Harry. They followed in his wake like a docile flock of sheep.

"We read your letter in the Prophet," Neville said. The entirety of the hall was watching them. It was unlike Neville to cause a public stir. Harry wasn't sure what he was trying to accomplish.

"It was brilliant," one Hufflepuff said.

Neville quelled the interruption with a look, and then continued. "If the Ministry is holding auror training sessions then we want to come. Seeing how the pros do things can only help. We're all tired of sitting back and doing nothing against You-Know-Who. We want to help you, Harry."

His words carried across the entirety of the Great Hall, which seemed to be holding its collective breath.

"I don't think that the Minister wants me inviting people along," Harry said.

His response, meek as it was, only spurred Neville on. "The Ministry's going to need as many people as possible to fight against You-Know-Who. We want to show that we can fight too."

Harry hesitated, and Neville continued before he could think of a way to give an equivocal answer and escape without seeming a coward in front of everyone.

"I think that having us along will really show the public that everyone at Hogwarts is behind you, Harry. It would make a good article in the Prophet."

"He's right," Hermione said. "If people who are of-age want to go they should be able. You should owl the Minister, Harry."

"I'd better be allowed to come," Ron muttered. His hand was propped on his cheek and he had a gloomy look at the idea of being left behind.

"We all want to do our part," Neville said. The students behind him voiced their agreement.

Hermione's approval, Neville's boldness and determination, along with the demanding curious eyes of every student in the hall brought down the last of Harry's resistance.

"I'll talk to the Minister then," Harry said.

Neville didn't smile. He just gave a deliberate, fierce nod. "We won't let you regret this," he said.

The group behind him dispersed like they had been given some secret signal. Harry had no doubt that the entire school would know what had been said within the hour.

The reaction to his letter was positive. Harry could count that as a small victory, at least. He wasn't sure how he felt about bringing other students along to the auror sessions, and he wasn't sure that the Minister and Dumbledore would agree to the idea, but people were being inspired. Not that Neville had needed more motivation.

"Looks like even the older students are listening to Neville now," Hermione said.

"Better watch out, Harry. I think he's angling for your spot," Ron said.

 _Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…_

"He's welcome to it," Harry said. "I'm going to head to charms now. Get some practice in before anyone shows up."

Hermione looked tempted to join him, but she glanced over at Ron, who was still dismantling the contents of his plate, and said, We'll see you there."

As he left the Great Hall, Harry thought that things were progressing somewhat differently than he had expected. He wondered if Fleur would be pleased with the development. It was, he supposed, the exact sort of thing they had been angling for with the letter.

Despite that, he couldn't shake the feeling that in the end it would prove to be a dangerous idea.

* * *

The students at Dueling Club practices had become exhaustingly enthusiastic. Harry's piece in the Prophet seemed to have driven his students to new levels of eagerness. Their showmanship was more prominent than ever, though Harry couldn't say that there had been a corresponding increase in their skills. This practice a gaggle of rambunctious third-year girls had staged a botched performance which was intended to show off their improvement. Instead, it had left long streaks of black scoring on the walls and floors and nearly taken off the heads of a pair of oblivious first-years. Only Fleur's timely intervention had saved them a trip to the Hospital Wing.

Now that the practice was over Harry busied himself with trying to remove the more egregious marks. They proved unnaturally resilient. Every method and spell he employed was fruitless. He had no doubt that Dobby or Mrs. Weasley would be able to banish the marks without any trouble but he found himself baffled and defeated. Harry left the damage alone. If he couldn't get rid of it then it would serve as a noticeable reminder of the dangers of overconfidence.

Restoring the room to its pristine state had been a plausible pretext for staying behind, but not Harry's actual goal. Fleur had yet to finish with a pest of a Ravenclaw who had developed the self-indulgent habit of staying after practice had ended to talk to Fleur. After a minimal amount of observation Harry had concluded that the boy's eyes strayed too often for his interest to be about dueling in particular. Fleur wouldn't be allowed to be blunt to the boy in her role as a Hogwarts professor but Harry was subject to no such restriction. He prepared to walk over.

"I should really be helping Harry clean up though," Fleur was saying. "If you're really interested in the practical application of what we discussed today then I suggest you go to the open auror training sessions. There's a group going this weekend."

Harry derived no small amount of satisfaction from watching the Ravenclaw blanch. With a stuttered excuse he departed.

"I wish my fans were as loyal to me as yours are to you," Harry said.

"At least your fans are staring at your face," Fleur said.

"It makes more sense for them to stare at you than at my scar," Harry said.

Fleur walked over to the tarnished section of the wall and prodded it with her wand. She frowned when the scoring didn't recede.

"I'll have to remember to ask what spell they used," Harry said. He felt almost like he was fumbling with his words. It was the first time he'd been alone with Fleur since their night on the roof. He was certain that their relationship had changed, that they would have to reach some new kind of equilibrium, but Fleur didn't seem to be sharing his mild discomfort in any way. She seemed distant, but not in a way that caused her any anxiety.

"They botched a spell and got lucky," she said.

Harry was becoming proficient in escaping the unintentional hazards that his students regularly inflicted upon him. Random explosions, uncontrollable fires, omnidirectional shrapnel, and crying first-years were only the most frequent challenges he had learned to overcome.

"Multiple incorrect castings can combine into a nearly impenetrable magical residue. It'll weaken and fade over time but there's nothing to be done about it right now," Fleur continued.

Magical theory was interesting but not why Harry had stayed behind.

"I missed you," Harry said.

"I read our letter while I was away. Read it a few times, actually. It got an excellent reaction," Fleur said.

Harry wanted to frown. It wasn't quite avoidance, and she said it too tenderly for it to be reproof, but he still got the impression that she was pulling away from him.

"It would have blown up in my face if you hadn't helped me," he said.

"You might need some polish but you would've succeeded without me, Harry," Fleur said.

She was still staring at the residue on the wall. One thumb traced along its winding length, pressing hard, like she could use force to wipe it away where magic had failed. She reached the end and let her hand fall by her side again. A silence between them grew.

They had only exchanged a few meaningless words in public since that night. Harry was struggling to place where they were with each other.

More than friends but less than lovers. Not student and teacher but not equals. They were a cruel secret without any of the lewd exciting details.

What was it that caused her to draw away? Voldemort? Their need for secrecy? His age? It could be any or none.

"Whatever you think, I'm grateful that you helped me," Harry said.

"Any time," Fleur said. Soft, but still not looking at him. Was she ashamed? Unsure? Never before had Harry felt so incapable of understanding what Fleur was thinking.

"Are you angry?" Harry asked.

"It would be childish to be angry. At you or myself," Fleur said.

That didn't feel like an answer. Harry didn't respond.

Moments like what they had shared on the roof were curious things. Like the acting out of a play or a scene from a movie. There was an implacable inevitability to their every action, and, in the moment, it seemed absurd to even consider that things could go a different way.

It was moments like that which were devoid of perspective, Harry thought. Like two people sealed in a painting without landscape or background.

But then time passed. Perspective reasserted itself. Suddenly those rash decisions didn't seem so inevitable. They might seem like a product of a passion that should have been ignored. Or so Harry feared.

"You've gotten so much better at convincing people to think a certain way," Fleur said.

"I've been practicing almost every day."

"Your results speak for themselves."

"They're definitely something to be proud of."

Most of the time talking to Fleur was a game that followed interesting, but conventional, routes. It was quick, pointed, and if you didn't stay lean and sharp you were sure to lose. This however, wasn't some teasing conversation. Fleur was as somber as Harry had seen her. There was no clear option for him to pick, no safe way of proceeding. He was on the brink of something, or rather Fleur was, and he couldn't predict what would bring her back or send her over.

For her part, Fleur seemed content to inspect him. She finally turned away from the wall and looked him up and down. It made Harry nervous, and excited, to be so closely examined.

"How was the rest of your break?" she asked.

"It didn't live up to what came before," Harry said.

She did smile a little at that. Some of her usual haughtiness returned. "Of course not. How could it?"

"And yours?" Harry asked. There was so much else he wanted to say that it felt asinine to be asking questions like that but he decided to let Fleur set the pace. If banalities were what she wanted then he would provide.

Fleur seemed to be weighing possible responses; he could see the exact moment she settled on a response. Her back straightened, involuntarily, and her eyes narrowed somewhat, giving her a smokier, more dangerous look.

"It didn't live up to what came before," Fleur said.

"Of course not. How could it?" Harry asked. His elation was unconcealable.

"Oh, I can think of a few ways," Fleur said. She passed by him, close enough that her shoulder almost brushed against his and he couldn't take her smirk as anything but a teasing challenge.

"Now that you mention it…" he said.

"I never got the chance to show you what I've been working on recently, after all," Fleur said, interrupting him.

"What you've been working on?" Harry asked. That…wasn't where he thought Fleur had been leading.

"Getting the opportunity to read Dumbledore's notes inspired me. I started working on some original projects that I'd like you to look at."

"Projects, huh?"

"It's nothing to get _excited_ over."

"I'd love to take a look," Harry said.

"Good. I don't want to risk anyone else seeing it so why don't we meet in the Room of Requirement after dinner tomorrow night."

That was the best Harry could have hoped for; the antithesis of their spontaneous moment on the roof. If Fleur was willing to be alone with him in the Room of Requirement, a planned rendezvous, then she had decided that what they had done wasn't a mistake. He had overcome whatever misgivings she had been nursing, though he admittedly didn't know how. His blind stumbling had led him away from the obstacles in his path.

"I'll be there," Harry said.

"Don't sound so enthusiastic. This is just more work for you." Harry got the impression Fleur was counseling him not to think that their meeting was going to be more than she was saying. He was fine with that. It was a step in the right direction. "Your charms and transfiguration skills are nowhere where they need to be yet and this will help to develop them."

"I think your standards are just too high."

"That's why I'm your favorite professor."

"Snape will be disappointed to hear that."

"Despite his good looks and charm he just doesn't have the same investment in your future that I do."

"I hope you're not implying that I base my opinion of my professors on their looks."

"Of course not," Fleur said.

What were they to each other? What had seemed so simple on the roof, like some kind of biblical truth, now was clouded and fading. Harry could pretend that he understood and try to fall back into the same rhythms with her, but he had the suspicion that it would be a step backward; to pretend things hadn't changed would be an unsustainable sham.

"Are we going to start practicing now?" Harry asked.

"Not today. I have some work that I need to do," Fleur said.

"Right. No problem." If her amused look was any indication then Harry's disappointment was obvious.

Fleur left. It was the first time she hadn't stayed behind to train with him since they had started.

Harry wondered if, somewhere along the way, he had made a mistake. It wasn't a bad outcome, but Fleur had doubts. Was having doubts. Navigating the intricacies of his relationship with her was proving more difficult than he had hoped.

* * *

"Trade?" Harry asked. He shut the book and slid it over to Hermione, rubbing his index finger sensually along the gilded title, as if the book could seduce her into reading it.

"I was done with this one anyway," Hermione said. She passed him _Pitiful Plagues and Paltry Pestilence_. He searched through the index for anything even tangential to his topic.

Snape had decided that he had enough evidence of 'cheating' to warrant giving each student an individualized topic. Harry had been assigned an inquiry into the role of magically engineered diseases in the evolution of Ministry defence protocols. Malfoy's essay was on standard uses of the Shield Charm.

Sometimes Harry wondered whether Snape at least found his cruelty amusing.

Most of the other students in Snape's class were desperately, and in many cases fruitlessly, searching the stacks for the welcome volume that would save them from the dreaded P. The few that had found a somewhat suitable book were staring down at their papers with an expression of the utmost betrayal, their quills dangling limply in their grasp.

Hermione had gone over the minimum required length for her essay an hour ago. Harry wasn't even halfway there.

"Harry, there's something I've wanted to talk to you about for a while now," Hermione said. Her quill came to rest in its inkpot.

Copying the gesture, Harry put his own away. "About what?"

"Ron. I didn't want to worry you, because I know how busy you've been, but he's been studying spells that I know he shouldn't be. Dangerous spells. The kind that you only find in the Restricted Section. He got a pass from Professor Slughorn."

"Ron isn't the type to study anything dark."

"Not dark. Just…dangerous. I think he's trying to catch up to you."

It wasn't meant as an accusation, but it felt like one anyway. Harry was aware of the potency of Ron's jealousy. It had driven him to make mistakes in the past but Harry had thought that they were past that point.

"He hasn't been acting any differently," Harry said.

"Because it's not jealousy or anything like that," Hermione said. "I think he just feels left behind. He's trying to, I don't know, make himself useful. You've been improving so much this year between the Dueling Club, Fleur, and Dumbledore. And now there's all of this about the auror training. Ron has to deal with the fact that you and his family are working to contribute to the war while he feels stuck and useless. Every time I've tried talking to him about this he's blown me off. I think he might respond better if you tried."

Hermione looked so earnest that Harry felt uncomfortable telling her the truth. He disagreed. They were at war. Ron's family members _were_ risking their lives every day. If that was what motivated him, if Harry's progress was motivating him, then that just showed that Ron understood the seriousness of their situation.

What he said was, "I'll talk to him but I can't promise anything. Ron can make his own decisions."

If his ambivalence showed in any way Hermione didn't seem to pick up on it.

A loud shuffling of books in the stack behind them drew the pair's attention. Neville hobbled out of the stacks with a half-dozen books straining to escape his grip. Quite literally, for one of them.

Neville was intent on his books so he didn't notice them. Harry gave a low appreciative whistle. Not loud enough to unbalance the delicate ecosystem of the library and bring about the prowling wrath of Madam Pince, but enough to get Neville's attention.

When Neville took a seat, Harry said, "I'm trying to get an idea of how many people are coming to the auror training. You seemed pretty friendly with the upper years. I was wondering if you had any idea."

A year ago Neville would have stuttered and bumbled his way through a labored explanation about how he didn't really know the upper years all that well and how Harry would be better off asking someone else. Now he just answered with the assurance of someone who was used to being consulted, and then listened to.

"It's hard to say right now," Neville said. "Some people aren't interested at all and others want to come but are too worried about reprisals from You-Know-Who. I'm sure that there will be at least a few who are willing to come no matter what. I couldn't really give you a number now though."

Harry hadn't expected more than that but he was still disappointed. The auror training had briefly been the sole topic of conversation at Hogwarts but, like even the most exciting gossip, it had faded out with the same rapidity that it had spread. Given that it only applied to of-age students the general enthusiasm for it was negligible.

" _Repairing Magical Artifacts. Vanishing Cabinets and Causal Necessity._ What are these for, Neville?" Hermione asked.

Neville laughed in a sort of embarrassed way, like he had been caught doing something he would have preferred remain hidden. Not guilty, just uncomfortable. "Gran found this old thing in the attic and she wants me to fix it. Apparently it belonged to my dad. I don't know anything about it so I thought that I'd do some research."

That was a topic of conversation that both Harry and Hermione knew to be leery of. Even allusions to the tragedy that had befallen the Longbottoms were enough to send a pitiless chill through Harry. Even though Neville said that it was his Gran who wanted him to fix the artifact, Harry could tell just by looking at him that it was important to him too. Restoring something that belonged to his dad would give him the same sort of feeling that Harry had every time he threw the invisibility cloak over his shoulders; like he was shouldering the past and the pride and the expectations of his father.

"If you ever need help just let us know," Harry said.

"We don't know much about vanishing cabinets but we'd be happy to help," Hermione said.

"Thanks," Neville said. "I doubt I'll be able to figure this out myself so I'll probably take you up on that."

"It does sound interesting. I've never gotten to work on a magical artifact before," Hermione said.

Neville laughed. "I've still got to finish Snape's essay before I worry about this."

"I've been working on mine for hours," Harry said. Neville looked at the leaning tower of books next to Harry, then down at his half-blank sheet of parchment, and sighed.

"There goes my night. I'll see you two later," Neville said. He carted his books over to Pince's desk and earned himself a stern rebuke when he let them thump too loudly.

"Poor Neville," Hermione said.

"I guess Ron's not the only person we should worry about," Harry said.

* * *

The Room of Requirement gave Harry a sense of vertigo when he entered. It was an endless saturated white that was broken only by Fleur's pale blue robes and the wooden desk she was sitting at. After taking a moment to let his sense of perspective balance itself, Harry walked over to her.

She noticed his approach, he was sure, but was too engrossed in her writing to pay him any mind. There were a few reference books stacked neatly on the table, and a dozen pages of handwritten notes scattered in a way that apparently made sense to Fleur. Harry gave the notes a once-over as he waited to be acknowledged. They were written in a hurried shorthand that he had to struggle to decipher. The handwriting was sloppy, as if her hand had struggled to keep pace with the surging stream of her thoughts.

There was a thrill in being alone with Fleur in the Room of Requirement. There was no chance of being discovered. It was a place of the most inviolable privacy. As Harry stood unoccupied and looked down at Fleur he struggled to suppress the less wholesome thoughts that had been pressing him since her return. He shifted uncomfortably. With one hand he tried to subtly readjust his robes.

"This is what I've been working on for the past couple of weeks," Fleur said. She picked up the thin cloth notebook that she was writing in and passed it to Harry.

Flipping through it, Harry saw a plethora of messy diagrams, cramped notations, and haphazard addendums. It was an even more impenetrable notebook than Dumbledore's. Fleur may have been inspired by the content of Dumbledore's but she hadn't taken any notes on layout.

"Is there a key?" Harry asked. He turned back to the first page and started studying it more closely.

"If you can't understand this simple thing then there's no way you'll actually be of any help."

That was a challenge that Harry wouldn't back down from. He refocused on the notebook and ignored Fleur's characteristically pleased reaction. At her unspoken behest the room supplied another chair for him. He sat down at the other side of the table, directly across from Fleur. Her leg was swinging idly under the table, coming close, but never quite brushing up against his leg. It was distracting.

As far as he could tell, the notebook was an attempt at providing a sound theoretical basis to a more streamlined mass animation spell. Not exactly an entirely original work, but rather adjusting the difficulty of an already existing spell. Masters, like Flitwick and Dumbledore, could pull off multiple simultaneous animations without much trouble, but learning how to do so was more a question of individual trial and error that required both time and talent, rather than a standardized spell like something that could be learned at Hogwarts. Mass animations were far out of reach of the average wizard.

The style of her notes was derivative of Dumbledore's notebooks. The more similarities that Harry found the more easily he was able to parse her writing. Due to the complexity of the base magic involved, it was an ambitious undertaking. Not, however, something that was out of her reach.

In fact, the deeper Harry got into the notes the more he doubted that she needed his help at all. There were too few corrections, and almost no mistakes to be found. It wasn't the ineptly executed work of someone fumbling toward the right answer. Fleur had known exactly where to start and where she needed to take her work. It was all done with an elegance and succinctness that Hermione would have admired.

Fleur didn't need his help, so why had she asked him to come? A test of his capabilities, in her guise as his teacher? An attempt to keep him involved and close by? Or even, and this Harry hardly dared to think, the spell had been nothing but a suitable excuse for her to get him alone with her in the Room of Requirement.

A look toward Fleur revealed nothing. She was paging through one of her books and making the occasional note. His pause was either unnoticed or ignored. Harry, once again, decided to let Fleur lead. She had a reason to invite him and with time it would be revealed. If he was lucky then her intentions would line up neatly with his.

"This reminds me of the charms used on the portraits that allow them to interact with their painted environments," Harry said.

"That spell was one of the first I looked into but the differences between permanent enchantments and temporary animations were too great for it to be a stable foundation. It was useful as a reference point but nothing more."

"Studying the suits of armor around the castle might be helpful."

"I thought I would do this without using any existing work. Why so eager for me to find an easy solution elsewhere?" Fleur asked.

"The base for this spell still hasn't been simplified enough. It's above N.E.W.T. level," Harry said. "If the point is to make multiple animations useful to people who aren't charms prodigies then we'll need to tone it down much further."

"I know. This is just a rough draft."

Harry had concerns outside of just the theoretical aspects of the spell. "Have you thought about the potential for abuse that this kind of spell could bring?" he asked.

"Any spell can be abused," Fleur said.

"But this is the kind of magic that Dumbledore used against Voldemort. Abusing Cheering Charms isn't exactly the same thing."

Fleur didn't seem irritated by his point, but neither did she look inclined to stop her work. "This spell hasn't even made it past the theoretical stage yet, Harry. If it does, and you're still worried, then we can talk about it."

"Have you told anyone else about this?"

A pause. "Only you," Fleur said.

That had to mean something, Harry thought.

"It's probably better if we keep it that way," Harry said. He thought he did an admirable job of keeping his voice steady.

"If you insist," Fleur said. Her wicked amusement had Harry putting his head back down to the notebook.

When he finished reading he started over again. He wanted to make sure that he understood everything perfectly. Fleur wouldn't let the usual thoughtless mistakes and conventional suggestions slide when it came to her original work. If Harry wanted her to treat him as an equal on the project, or something close to it, then he absolutely had to act like one.

As Harry read through it a second time he began giving his thoughts. Gratifyingly, Fleur took notes on a number of his suggestions and corrections as he went. Soon the pages that scattered the table were split equally between the two of them.

It was distracting just being around Fleur. It seemed that he could only focus on the work so long before he was drawn back to her. His eyes traced her lips, the hollow near her collarbone, and even lower with greater regularity as the night went on. Fleur noticed, Harry knew, and she had a small, self-satisfied smile that lasted the entire night, but she never made him feel like the bumbling schoolchild he knew he was acting like. It was childish to stare; no different from the Ravenclaw at the Dueling Club, or any of the hundreds of male students who would kill to be in his position. Still, he couldn't help himself.

It seemed like the more he had gotten to know Fleur, the more he had confessed to her and grown comfortable around her, the less he was able to control herself around her. It might be different if she discouraged his behavior. A cutting phrase or displeased look would quell his roving eyes.

She never did. On the contrary, the more Harry looked, the less able he was to focus on providing useful feedback on the notes, and the more pleased Fleur grew. It was an indulgent pleasure she was showing, far from her usual haughtiness and condescending humor.

After he spent nearly a full minute stumbling through a suggestion about how they could incorporate Didier's Theory of Retrograde Animation, Fleur suggested they take a break.

"We don't have to," Harry said. His pride stung. Half of his suggestions were useless because he couldn't produce a coherent thought with Fleur in front of him.

"I like to take small breaks. It keeps me sharp," Fleur said. She put her quill down and assembled the notes into one neat pile. "You've been very helpful, Harry. Thank you."

"I'm sure you could've thought of all of that on your own," Harry said.

"It's interesting what kinds of connections other people make. It makes your mind work differently than it would have on its own."

She could be telling the truth, or she could just be humoring him. Harry couldn't tell. "Why are you trying to do this?" he asked.

"Why? I wanted to," Fleur said.

He gave her a sour look and nudged her under the table with his leg, perhaps letting it stray too far and linger too long to really qualify as a nudge.

"It's a creative outlet. Those are good things to have. They keep you interested. And away from other, more dangerous, outlets."

Fleur was looking directly in his eyes and Harry was glad that the desk was concealing his lower body. Somehow, holding Fleur in his arms on the roof had seemed more innocent than just sitting at the same desk was now.

"I guess I'll keep helping you then. For a creative outlet," Harry said.

Fleur was playing with the end of her quill, running her index finger from the top to the bottom in sweeping hypnotic motions. "For creative outlets," she agreed.

"Oh, and I almost forgot to tell you. I got another letter from Gabby the other day. She went on for pages about her amazing hero, Harry Potter. Apparently what I've written in my letters has made her become quite taken with you," she went on.

Fleur laughed and Harry started to blush with pleasure. It had nothing to do with Gabrielle Delacour.

* * *

Harry was early. The hallway outside McGonagall's office, rarely used at the busiest of times, was empty. There was another twenty minutes until the portkey for the auror training would leave but Harry had decided that, as the person who had supposedly put all of it together, he should arrive first. Fleur had spent the better part of an hour lecturing him on the importance of appearance and how even the most seemingly inconsequential details could tarnish a once first-rate reputation.

There was no finalized count for how many students would be attending. Dumbledore had given his permission for of-age students to attend at dinner one night and announced the date and time that the portkey would be leaving, but he had left the rest in Harry's hands. Once he had that leeway Harry had taken the liberty of getting special dispensation from Scrimgeour for Ron and Neville to join the session, despite not being of-age. They would never have forgiven him if he had let them stay behind.

Neville had dedicated himself to keeping the session as fresh in people's minds as possible. He had gone around the school trying to rally the of-age students to join. Results, he had claimed, were mixed, but he held out hope for a good turnout. Harry hoped that he was right. The Gryffindor crests on the wall seemed to loom over him, like they were judging whether or not he was worthy to bear their likeness.

Training with aurors would be stepping into the real world. They would be suddenly shorn of the coddling that Hogwarts offered and treated like prospective weapons to be wielded in war. Teaching students in the DA or Dueling Club was juvenile compared to most of the things that Mad-Eye had told him about auror training. Half of what he had praised so effusively was later decreed illegal, according to Tonks.

Even beyond the training itself, Harry knew that the wizarding world would be looking to him. Some because they wanted him to succeed, and others because they were praying for his failure. He had no choice but to live up to the mantle of the Boy-Who-Lived. The mantle he was, for the first time, adopting voluntarily. The mantle that he would give meaning beyond an infant's coincidental vanquishing of the Dark Lord.

Harry had his back to Ron and Hermione when they turned the corner. It took a tap on the shoulder from Ron to draw him from his thoughts.

"You alright, mate?" Ron asked.

"Nobody's here," Harry said.

"There's still fifteen minutes and you know that Neville is going to bring people," Hermione said.

"If we can't get a big enough group together then I'll be the failed showoff that this country's always thought of me as," Harry said.

"The Prophet isn't going to print anything bad about you now," Ron said.

That didn't do much in the way of making Harry feel better but he gave Ron a terse smile anyway. He was grateful for their support, if not the words themselves.

"It's not only about the numbers. The important thing is that this is happening at all," Hermione said.

Harry tried to force himself to relax. He couldn't shake the feeling that out of everything he had done on the public stage, this was the most momentous. The DA, Dueling Club, Prophet op-ed; those were nothing more than appetizers to entice demand for the main course.

"I'm sure the aurors will be impressed with what we've been doing," Hermione said. "Professor Flitwick said that this is the most advanced class to come through Hogwarts in decades. A lot of that is thanks to you."

"Well, none of this would have happened in the first place if you hadn't given me the push to start the DA," Harry said.

"Yeah, Hermione. If you had kept quiet we could be playing chess right now." Ron let loose a sigh of mock lament and earned a lighthearted elbow from Hermione in return. He gave an even more dramatic grunt in response.

Their antics were a good distraction. At least until Neville came down the corridor, entourage in tow.

Harry counted. One. Two. Three. Four.

Four including Neville. That was worse than he had expected.

Harry greeted them cordially and made the obligatory round of introductions, even though they were all Dueling Club members. He didn't let the panic he was feeling show. Was this the best that Hogwarts had to offer its country?

When he had a moment, Harry drew Neville to the side. "Is this it?"

Neville's expression was a unique look, one that only he could pull off; a bewildering amalgamation of shame, self-loathing, and determination. "This was the best I could do. People are frightened."

Even though he understood the pervasive atmosphere of fear that had settled over Hogwarts, and the country, Harry was alarmed by the turnout. Only two other volunteers from the House of the Brave? It was disgraceful.

"Seven of us," Harry said. "Maybe I should have tried recruiting people myself."

"No." Neville's response was immediate and forceful. "You're the one behind all of this. You have to be above it. It would come across as pathetic if you started begging people to come to something this important."

"You're right. Still…so few." Harry looked at the assembled students. They were talented, he knew that from experience, but the caliber of the wizard wouldn't come across clearly on the front page of the Prophet. Quantity, or the lack thereof, would.

However, the more Harry thought about it, the more he was confident that the Prophet would be able to work its mendacious magic to make it seem like the whole of Hogwarts was clamoring to support their adored Boy-Who-Lived. He had to remember that the Prophet specialized in spinning a story, rather than reporting the facts. The thought filled him with disgust.

He paid minimal attention to the conversations around him. It was almost time for their portkey. McGonagall's office was still closed.

"Who's taking us there?" Ron asked.

"It has to be a professor, right?" Hermione said.

"I don't actually know. Nobody told me," Harry said.

"Are you even the one who organized this?" Hermione said, just loud enough for him to hear.

It was two in the afternoon exactly when the office door opened. Instead of being greeted by McGonagall's ever-present severe green robes and stern face, Harry caught a whiff of some inexplicable but delightful scent and a flash of silvery-blond hair.

"Is everyone ready to go?" Fleur asked.

Harry gaped and before he could catch himself, said, " _You're_ taking us?"

Fleur kept her cheery demeanor. "I asked to switch with Professor McGonagall. That's not a problem, is it?"

"Of course not!" the sole Ravenclaw shouted. Everyone stared at him and he gave an enormous blush.

Fleur continued as if there hadn't been an answer. Harry thought that the question might have been rhetorical in the first place. "We'll be travelling by portkey there and back. It goes without saying but don't embarrass yourself or the school. The Prophet will have a team there so even your worst moments are likely to be recorded and distorted. Any questions?"

Harry was caught at an intersection of emotion. He was happy, thrilled even, that Fleur was the one coming with them. She was wearing a particularly tight set of cream dueling robes that contoured to her lines, only distorted by padding on her chest and thighs (which by no means detracted from her appearance). Down her back was a half-cape which brushed just below the small of her back. If not for her decidedly feminine appearance, Harry would have thought that she looked like a plucky squire prepared to dash to the rescue.

The downside to the situation was that Fleur hadn't told him she was coming. Because she knew that he would object.

Honestly, Harry wasn't sure that he could keep his eyes off of her for the entire duration of the training. The last thing his reputation needed was for an unscrupulous Prophet reporter to leak photos of him leering at her chest when he was trying to marshal support for the war effort.

He tried to glare at Fleur when no one else was looking but she just carried on with the same effortless unconcern, as if there was nothing out of the ordinary, nothing dangerous, in her subbing for McGonagall at the most crucial point in Scrimgeour's plan.

Fleur had everyone stand around McGonagall's desk. She produced the portkey, a balanced wooden baton, with a dainty flourish. Harry could hardly recall the last time that he had seen her in such an effervescent mood. He was about dismiss it as just a passing temper, one which required no further explanation, when she looked directly at him and smiled. It was a smile he was familiar with.

She was challenging him.

Harry put a grudging hand on the portkey. He was pressed between Neville and the sweaty Ravenclaw. Fleur said, "Tinkerwell."

They were wrenched off their feet in the typical dizzying blur, suspended and yet moving at a critical speed. Harry wrestled against the onrushing nausea. It wouldn't do for his entrance to be preceded by a spray of sick. As much as he wanted to check on the reactions of the others, Harry couldn't seem to lift his eyes from the vibrating portkey.

With a monstrous lurch their ride was finished. The group landed on their feet, albeit unsteadily, in the midst of a grassy expanse.

"All right. You're representing Hogwarts today. Behave accordingly," Fleur said. Harry saw her eyes stay on him for just a moment too long. She wanted a reaction? If that was her game then he wasn't going to give her one. On another day he would be more than happy to play along but not today. Although, on reflection, the inappropriateness was probably what had enticed Fleur in the first place.

When the group started moving Harry looked at the surroundings. He recognized where they were. The field was overgrown and the once magnificent stadium had faded and become strewn with debris, but it was undoubtedly the home of the Quidditch World Cup final. With such a small group, and given the neglected appearance of the place, Harry thought that it gave off a borderline post-apocalyptic feeling, like they were wading into some nightmare better left forgotten.

Fleur was leading them over to the auror trainees. They were a brow-beaten lot, with slumped shoulders, trembling legs, and sweat dripping from forgotten orifices. Harry didn't recognize any of them but he knew their instructor.

"Hello, Kingsley," Fleur said.

"Fleur," Kingsley said, inclining his head politely. Harry had never thought of Kingsley as being in the mold of Mad-Eye but judging from the fact that not a single one of the trainees was staring at Fleur, Harry decided that Kingsley had pushed them to the very edge of sanity.

The group of trainees was smaller than he had expected. Scrimgeour had told him that the auror office expanded in times of national emergency but there couldn't be more than thirty trainees present, and Harry knew that not all of them would graduate. Scrimgeour's desperation for support was becoming more understandable.

Even more unnerving was the knowledge that any one of the recruits could be a spy for Voldemort, or under the imperious. They all looked normal (relatively speaking), and acted normal, but at any moment they could prove to be just as vicious and underhanded as the average Death Eater. It had gone unsaid that Harry was risking his life by leaving Hogwarts. The only protection he was afforded was the knowledge that Voldemort wanted to kill him personally.

Which, when Harry thought about it, wasn't that comforting at all.

As a whole the trainees seemed apathetic to the appearance of the Hogwarts students. They gave off an air of being prematurely jaded and war-wearied. It went beyond simple exhaustion and dealt more with the fundamental mentality of the average Ministry worker toward the war. Even the aurors seemed hard pressed to envision victory.

A flash of light caught Harry's eye. He had missed a handful of cameramen and a reporter from the Prophet loitering along the sideline of the stadium. They fired their cameras as quickly as the shutters could operate. Harry gave a small smile and wave, keeping Fleur's advice in mind, and the reporter gave him a grateful thumbs up.

"Showing off for all of your adoring fans?" Ron said.

"That's why we're here," Harry said.

"That's why you're here," Ron said.

Kingsley's wand produced a loud retort that silenced everyone.

"We'll be splitting into groups to work on a rotating set of activities," he said. "Counter-Ambush tactics and Multi-Target Engagement will be the primary focuses. Each Hogwarts student will be paired with a trainee and is expected to keep up. If not, you'll be asked to step aside." With that Kingsley produced a list and rattled off the names of students and aurors. The trainees came forward to collect their charges, neither welcoming nor stony.

Ron had been paired with a woman who had a long scar running from the top of her temple in a jagged line to just below her left ear. Every now and then a sickly light pulsed underneath the scar but, given that nobody else was panicking when it happened, Ron seemed to accept it with the same equanimity that he had come to treat Harry's scar with. The woman spoke economically to him and he responded in kind. Hermione had already lead her auror, a short man who seemed to be faring better than most, over to their assigned spot. She had wasted no time in questioning him and he seemed slightly disconcerted by the rapidity and intensity of her interrogation.

It seemed that Kingsley was putting the five groups in different spots around the stadium and having them work on exercises both theoretical and practical. Eventually, Harry and Fleur were the only two left standing of the original Hogwarts contingent. The Prophet's cameras continued to blink, like so many nervous eyes in the background.

"What're we supposed to do?" Harry asked.

"Officially? Work with each of the groups," Kingsley said. "Unofficially the Minister wants you to look good for the cameras. You might give the reporter a few words. Nothing too heavy." Kingsley looked as taken with the idea as Harry felt.

"Don't worry, Kingsley. I'll handle Harry," Fleur said. "You focus on doing something useful."

Kingsley nodded and walked over to his trainees. His relief at not having to babysit was palpable.

"What are you trying to do?" Harry asked.

"I'm just doing my best to act as any Hogwarts professor should. Keeping an eye on my students and all of that," Fleur said. Unintentionally or not, she looked halfway between striking a pose and standing straight. Harry was no longer sure whether the cameras were flashing in his direction or hers.

"If you're going to play games at least help me," he said.

"All you had to do was ask."

* * *

The crack of Kingsley's wand signaled the end of their training. All of the other students, Harry saw, looked as exhausted as the trainees had when they arrived. He felt somewhat guilty about not taking part with them before deciding that his own ordeal had been far worse than anything they could have gone through.

"Looks like our time's up," the reporter said. "Thanks for the interview."

Harry nodded and walked in the direction of the other students. Kingsley had started talking but his voice didn't quite carry to where Harry and Fleur were.

Fleur had spent the duration of the interview far enough away to seem separate from Harry, but close enough that he couldn't ignore her. She had occupied herself with trying to provoke him. Long stretches that emphasized her outfit, loud yawns when he was spending too long on any one topic, and unsubtle embellished giggles whenever he said something foolishly patriotic. Harry would have accused her of trying to sabotage their plan if she hadn't been so convincingly innocent each time the reporter had turned around.

"You're a menace," Harry said to her.

"You love that about me."

He thought for a second and then said, "Yeah, I guess I do."

Fleur seemed taken aback by what he said, and some of the teasing was gone from what she said next. "I thought you did well for the most part. If the Prophet picks the more plausible things you said and stays away from the blatant idiotic lies then the public is going to love it."

"That'll almost make this worthwhile."

"Don't say that. I had a good time."

"The cameramen were certainly happy that you came along."

"Don't worry, Harry. They can take pictures but they can't touch." Fleur laughed but Harry wasn't sure what about that was supposed to have been funny.

The Hogwarts group was waiting wordlessly for their arrival. Even Ron, who had seemed like he would easily possess the fortitude for auror training, looked about ready to collapse.

Neville was the only exception. He was staring around at their surroundings, and the people there, with a serene, pleased look.

"Ready?" Fleur asked merrily. She got a few scattered murmurs of assent in return so she held out the portkey.

When they got back Harry thanked everyone for coming and gave them the date and time of the next session. He wondered if they were all going to come again. It was unlikely.

"Harry," Fleur said before he left. "Don't forget about our meeting tomorrow night. You can't start slacking on me."

"Trust me, Fleur. I've got some ideas you're going to love."

"I'm looking forward to it. Don't be late."


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: Check out 's Halt CPM's DLP Library community on FFN. It has all of DLP's highest rated non-HP stories. It's an absolute treasure trove.**

 **Chapter XII**

The Room of Requirement was less of a room and more of a broom closet. Fleur hadn't bothered to take into account personal space when wishing up the room. There was a small desk, cluttered with their research and writing materials, two uncomfortable wooden chairs placed symmetrically at either end, and an increasingly irritated Harry.

Not only had Fleur put him to work in a tiny stuffy room alone with her, she had also put on a distracting new scent and had spent the entire time ignoring him. Harry kept stopping to look at her, his quill pausing conspicuously and a noticeable silence taking over for his tedious scribbling, but she never acknowledged the pauses. It was somehow worse than the sly recognition that he was accustomed to.

It wasn't an intentional snub. He knew that Fleur was just too caught up in her work. But that didn't slow the march of his mounting irritation.

Fleur continued writing. The scritch-scratching of her quill pierced his ears at a frequency somewhere beyond irritating and just short of painful.

"Fleur," Harry said. She didn't hear him. He repeated himself. Still no response.

Harry pointed his wand at the pile of notes that she had painstakingly collated and sent the barest hint of a gust—just enough to send the stack into the air, still perfectly arranged.

It was a feat of control that Harry was quite proud of, though one which he was unlikely to earn any praise for. Fleur noticed the gently rising papers and gave a harpy's screech, worse than the endless, hellish scrabbling of her working. She grabbed the papers and anxiously checked to make sure that they were still in the proper order.

Once she was satisfied that he hadn't caused any lasting damage Fleur shot him with a nasty Stinging Hex. He only just managed to avoid the worst of it. A welt the size of a marble started to form on the top of his shoulder and Harry hissed as he rubbed at it.

Fleur worried the ends of the notes, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles and ironing out imperceptible imperfections.

"That was uncalled for," she said.

"I was about to say the same thing," Harry said. He continued to melodramatically rub at his new wound.

"What do you want?" Fleur asked.

"I was about to ask for your help on a job that Dumbledore gave me."

"Help you with a job? I'm not feeling very much goodwill toward you right now." Fleur held her research notes to her chest, as if he was some kind of rapacious scavenger ready to rend them to pieces if she so much as glanced away.

"Even though I spent the last two hours helping you with your work?" Harry asked.

"Let me see what you've done, and I'll decide whether or not you deserve a reward," Fleur said. Harry handed her his work, one eye trained on her wand in anticipation of further retaliation. Fleur, he had come to realize, was even more protective of her work than Hermione. Or at least less restrained when it came to defending it.

A lewd thought came to mind. He wondered if Fleur only enjoyed punishment when it came to academia, or if that proclivity carried over to other, less intellectual spaces as well…

Fleur complained about the poor organization of his work. Harry wasn't sure that he would be able to meet her eyes if he continued with that line of thinking.

"This isn't bad," Fleur said, nearing the end of his notes. "You make a few hasty assumptions that we haven't tested yet, but they're not egregious and the theory behind it all is solid. There's some overlap with what I was doing but I think that just means that we're on the right track."

She stacked Harry's notes on top of her own and slid them into her folder. Given the hundreds of pages that they had copied and produced, he thought that there had to be some hefty space-extension charms on the folder.

"Do I get my three wishes now?" Harry asked.

"Use them wisely," Fleur said. She winked at him and reclined in her chair. Harry's traitorous mind immediately sprang back to the various creative punishments that he could imagine Fleur enacting.

He blushed. Fleur's smile stretched. Just another in a long line of victories for her.

"Slughorn has a memory that Dumbledore wants to see, but it's embarrassing for him so he won't give it up. Dumbledore asked me to get it from him but I'm not sure how," Harry said.

"A memory? Generally if you want information from someone you either trade for it or manipulate them into giving it to you," Fleur said. "If even Dumbledore can't get this from Slughorn I think it's fair to say that we'll have to get it out of him using some less straightforward methods."

"Blackmail?"

"More subtle than that. Reputation is important, yours especially. We can't risk word getting out of you blackmailing a Hogwarts professor. Start thinking weaknesses. What does Slughorn love, and how can we use that against him?"

Even paying only a modicum of attention to Slughorn was enough to answer that question. Fame. Food. Alcohol. Influence. Harry said as much to Fleur.

"You're right. In a way, we're lucky that it's Slughorn. He's easy to figure out," Fleur said. "The real question is, what's the best way to approach him?"

"I was thinking after a Slug Club party," Harry said. "There's one next weekend that I could go to. If he drinks enough during the party and then I corner him afterwards I should have a good chance of getting it out of him."

"That's too obvious. Remember, you'll only get one chance at this. If you suddenly change your behavior and start blatantly trying to get closer to him he'll be on his guard. This is going to require patience. You'll need to ingratiate yourself into his trusted circle over time. Then you can try to get the information from him. Think of this as a long term espionage assignment."

Harry had only mentally prepared himself for a single tortuous night. The prospect of spending weeks, or months, trying to get into Slughorn's good graces and mingling at his insipid parties left him grasping desperately for alternatives.

"Are you sure that we can't just use the Imperius?" Harry asked.

"Is a life sentence in Azkaban really better than a couple of Slug Club parties?"

Harry thought about it. "It's a close one. Especially since I know you'd break me out of Azkaban."

"Oh? Would I?" Fleur asked.

"Of course. You'd be bored senseless without your miserable research assistant to torture."

"Research assistants are easy to come by. And maybe I'd actually get some work done without you constantly distracting me."

"Distract you?" Harry asked. "I didn't know that I distracted you." He leaned forward in his chair, placing both elbows on the desk and jutting into Fleur's personal space like she was about to confide some especially tantalizing secrets.

She swatted him with her folder. It felt more like a brick than a bunch of papers. "The most important thing when you meet with Slughorn is to make sure he trusts you, is drunk, and that you have a plausible reason for asking about what you want. Put those three together convincingly and you'll get what you need," Fleur said. She put the folder in her bag and stood. The back of her chair rattled against the stone wall.

"Leaving already?" Harry asked.

"Don't look so sad. You're coming with me. We've been spending so much time working on the spell that we've neglected your training. It would be a shame if you looked rusty in front of all those aurors."

"You don't need to worry about me. I've been keeping up with practice on my own time."

Fleur looked at him with something like pity. He had made similar claims in the past. It had never mattered. She dismantled him with the same flair as always. Since Fleur had gotten to look at Dumbledore's notebook, and taken the time to assimilate the entirety of the contents, the only thing that Harry could really do was try to keep pace with her improvement.

This time would be different though, he assured himself. She was out of practice, and he had never been so sharp.

All of the time that she had spent working on her spell instead of training was setting her up for defeat. Harry carved out time every day for devising countless tricks, strategies, and approaches for defeating Fleur.

Most were discarded after he figured out how she would counter, but every mistake helped him analyze her style a little more, peeling away the layers until predicting her movements became as effortless as making his own.

"Since you're so confident I won't go as easy on you as I normally do," Fleur said.

The Room of Requirement blurred around them. Harry couldn't make out the details of what was happening, almost as if blinders had been placed over his eyes. All he could see was a vague undulating motion as the walls stretched and pushed and extended. The space between him and Fleur increased, moment by moment, as if he had been placed on a conveyor belt carrying him away from her. The desk became lighter, more pellucid, the color bleaching from it moment by moment, until it was entirely transparent, and then gone, an apparition fading into nothingness. At the same time that the desk was fading, a regulation size dueling mat was spun into being; its pristine royal blue bulk materialized into the exact center of the room, with Harry standing on one end and Fleur on the other.

Some kinds of magic became mundane. Harry knew the Room of Requirement never would.

"Let's make this interesting. If you win then I'll come to the Slug Club parties with you," Fleur said.

"Make sure you wear something nice," Harry said. He appraised her, up and down, with an unimpressed look that she rolled her eyes at.

"Not something too nice though. I wouldn't want to keep you from your important mission. After all, you have a hard enough time focusing as it is," Fleur said.

"I can handle myself. You worry about keeping Slughorn happy."

"It's a moot point. You won't beat me."

"Best out of three," Harry said.

"As if it'll make a difference. Are you sure you don't want a handicap?" Fleur asked.

"Just get ready."

Fleur dropped into her dueling stance, one that had evolved over their constant practice; she looked like a snake ready to uncoil at any moment. It was a flexible position—she could launch into a maelstrom offensive or weather his heaviest attacks with the slightest notice. And she never telegraphed her move in advance.

The fact that she bothered to get into a stance at all was an improvement. There had been a period, longer than Harry cared to recall, where Fleur had been able to beat him down without even the pretense of effort.

"Whenever you're ready," Fleur said.

Harry settled into his own stance. His wand leveled at Fleur like a spear, his knees bent, his feet arched, ready to spring, slide, or scatter depending on the situation. He had learned, through harsh demonstration, that getting caught flatfooted by Fleur was a good way to ensure a swift conclusion to their duel.

Harry probed with a blustery hex; attention getting, but little else. Then their duel began in earnest.

* * *

Fleur sat, panting and gasping, on the stone floor just outside the dueling mat. A few drops of blood trailed from her nose, nothing more than a trickle compared to the original deluge. She had only managed to staunch the worst of it during their duel.

"Practicing, huh?" Fleur said. Her voice was nasally. Combined with her French accent it made for a particularly strange sound.

A clean sweep for Harry. Not easily won, and not without cost (as his black-and-blue shoulder could attest), but worth the numbingly repetitive practice he had endured.

"It would have gone differently if you weren't out of practice," Harry said.

"I don't need to be coddled. I'm not some spoiled child. You beat me. You should be happy." She remained on the ground. Harry suspected that she was in more pain than she was letting on. They had been trading some vicious spells near the end, and a pair of his bludgeoners had connected, though things had been moving to quickly for him to judge the extent of the damage.

He walked over to her. His wand rested, just ever so slightly, on the bridge of her nose.

" _Tergeo_."

The blood from her nose steamed away, like water under intense heat, and Fleur wrinkled her nose in discomfort. The movement made her wince.

" _Episkey_ ," Harry continued. A faint blue glow illuminated her face like moonlight as he worked. The break had been clean, or Fleur's hasty spellwork had ameliorated the worst of it, because it took only gentle coaxing to put everything back in order. He was relieved to see that he hadn't caused any permanent damage.

Harry saw to the rest of her wounds. His wand soothed bruises on her arms, closed cuts on her stomach, and tended to burns on her legs. Not daring to ask her to remove her robes, as much for his sanity as her modesty, Harry ran his hands along places that he thought he had injured her, waiting for the tell-tale wince or gasp.

He could have just asked her where she was hurt, but he didn't. And she didn't tell him.

His hands moved tenderly. The air between them was intimate. Harry had never felt like the one taking care of her before. It was intoxicating, like she was finally letting him take a definitive stake in her wellbeing.

Throughout the entire process Fleur watched him, sphinxlike, the gravity of her gaze only interrupted by her periodic pained outbursts. If he closed his eyes he could imagine that she was gasping for another, more pleasing, reason.

Harry finished, but whatever was between them wasn't over. The dim glow of his wand faded, his hand trailed off of her calf, and their eyes dueled and danced, even more resolutely than earlier.

Whatever meaning was struggling to get across was lost along the way. Harry had a feeling of great importance when their eyes met; like some common message was being ferried across a great chasm, but which lost its way every time. Whatever fragments made it to the other side were torn and tattered; indecipherable.

A lock of blond hair had fallen in front of Fleur's left eye. Harry felt his hand rise up from next to her leg, an unthought action spurred by an unwilled willingness. He brushed the lock out of her face, tucking it back in with the falls of her hair, marveling at the feel of it, and the fact that she didn't stop him.

Fleur's eyes forfeited their duel. She broke away from Harry, her expression falling from inscrutability to something sadder. Regret, or frustration, or guilt?

Softly, warningly, she said, "Harry…"

Harry removed his hand. He didn't conceal how crestfallen he felt.

"I like those blue robes you have," he said.

"I've already worn those to one of Slughorn's parties…but I can wear them again, if you want," Fleur said, still looking at the dueling mat.

"I should go. I told Ron that we would work on our Potions assignment tonight," Harry said.

"You did well today, Harry. I'm glad…" She lost her way again; faltering for a lack of words, or a lack of confidence?

Harry was standing again. With Fleur still on the ground, and still with that lost expression, and still not meeting his eyes, it was as if he were the one in charge, and all he needed to do was take the lead and break past that first wall of resistance; then Fleur would follow along, he was sure of it.

They would be happy. He was sure of it. It was just a matter of making a demand.

But, Harry realized, he had never been good at demanding things. He stayed silent. He didn't stretch out his hand. He couldn't bring himself to topple what others had built.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Fleur," Harry said.

He waited a moment, in case she was going to respond. She didn't, so he left. Though he didn't look back Harry knew that her eyes were on him.

* * *

"I mean, I'm not saying that she's a model or anything, but I was surprised. It's weird to think about her like that after all these years, you know?" Ron said.

"Ron, if you keep telling me about what you and Hermione get up to together I'm going to hex you," Harry said. "I don't want to think about her like that. Or you. Ever."

"Fine, fine, I get it. All I'm saying is that she's got a nicer pair than you would think."

"A terrible hex. Madam Pomfrey won't be able to do a thing."

"Can it wait until we've finished the assignment? I swear, I never understand the point of Slughorn's homework. An explication of the timing of ingredient addition in Hiccoughing Solutions? I think he's just running out of ideas."

"It's still not as bad as anything Snape's given us this year. Or last year. Or the year before that."

"But that's Snape," Ron said.

The Gryffindor Common Room had reached the point in the night where the noise fell to just about tolerable, with the most idiotically rambunctious students either running out of ideas, energy, or getting bored; leaving behind only those desperate enough to still be working on assignments, and the neurotic overachievers preparing for still distant exams.

Harry and Ron had been able to claim a pair of comfortable chairs in the room's secluded corner, far from the door and the fire. The closest group was a trio of fourth years who were unable to decide between their Charms homework and their start-stop game of exploding snap.

"Hah! Finished." Ron held his paper up to the light, glorying in it like it was his magnum opus.

"Do you think Slughorn ever wonders why your potions are perfect but your essays are shite?" Harry asked.

"He knows that I'm a man of action," Ron said. He read over his essay, nodding in satisfaction as he arrived at parts that Harry was reasonably certain had been lifted verbatim from library books.

Harry was already plotting out the last few paragraphs of his essay in his head. It was late, and he had been ready for bed hours ago.

"Harry, can I ask you something?" Ron said. He looked around to ensure that no one was close enough to listen in.

"Sure," Harry said. He scrawled his thoughts on a scrap of paper and then put his work down. Ron looked solemn, and uncomfortable.

"I was thinking that maybe, since Hermione and I have been going out for a while, I should…tell her how I feel," Ron mumbled. "This is, if you don't think that I'm rushing things. I don't want to rush things. It's not too soon, is it? We haven't been going out for that long. I just figured that since we've known each other for years that it would be alright. That I should be honest. Gryffindor pride and all that, yeah?"

Ron was so pathetically earnest that Harry couldn't laugh at him (no matter how much he wanted to).

"If you love her then you should tell her that. Don't overcomplicate things," Harry said. Ron stared at him as if he had uttered the only word in existence more terrifying than Voldemort.

"Don't act like this is so simple and easy. It's not like you've ever had to do this before," Ron said.

At this Harry did laugh, not minding Ron's perplexion.

"If you want to tell Hermione how you feel then you should. You're straightforward, she's straightforward; it's the best way of doing things. I don't think that you have to worry about it being too soon or anything."

"So I should just do it."

"Yeah. Make sure that you don't act like it's no big deal or anything. It is. Hermione needs to understand that you understand how important this is." Harry expounded on the subject with all of the enthusiasm of a zealot, and Ron listened with the rapt attention of a recent convert.

"Right. This is happening. I can do this. I can do this. Even though I don't have a clue what I'm doing, I can do this," Ron said, with the voice of someone who had no belief in their ability to do anything.

"You're not backing out of this, Ron. I know you, and I know that you're going to think of reasons not to go through with this, but it's happening," Harry said.

"Maybe now isn't a good time though. The weather's been bad, it's cold outside, the setting's just not right. And Hogwarts? That's so cliché. I need time to think of something better," Ron said.

"No. Those are all just bad excuses, Ron. You're better than that, and Hermione deserves better than that. I'll tell you what you're going to do. You're going to invite Hermione out for the next Hogsmeade weekend. You're going to take her on the perfect date. You're going to get her alone. And you're going to tell her how you feel. Make it romantic, if you think that'll help. But I guarantee you, the only thing that Hermione is going to care about is what you say to her. That's the kind of girl she is."

"What if she doesn't feel like that?" Ron asked. He spoke low, in the tone a child uses to ask about monsters.

"You've still got the potion you won from Slughorn, don't you?" Harry asked.

"The Felix Felicis?"

"Right. Take that before your date if you're so nervous."

"Doesn't that seem like cheating?" Ron asked.

"You're not doing anything to her. You're just improving your own luck. All the potion can do is set the scene. Things will just…go your way. It'll be the perfect setup for a confession."

Harry felt himself getting excited at the prospect of it. Ron and Hermione would have the perfect romance; not some shameful confession made away from prying ears out of fear—one which had to stay hidden from the world. No, they could be together with pride, reveling in their happiness without having to worry about the reactions of others. Harry would be damned if anything got in the way of that, including Ron himself.

"I really never took you for a romantic," Ron said.

"It's not hard to figure out what a girl wants. You're just dense," Harry said.

"Oi."

"If this goes well you'll owe me one."

"I've still got to figure out the details."

"I think that naming your firstborn after me will suffice."

"Prat is a terrible name for a kid."

Harry looked at Ron seriously, trying to instill all of his faith into one gaze. "As long as you're committed to this, and as long as you're honest with Hermione, everything will be alright."

No matter how well Ron had responded to what Harry said, he knew that Ron had a tendency, when unchecked, to slide into self-doubt, to wallow in it until it was ruling him. He would have to monitor events closely to make sure that didn't happen.

Letting Ron ruminate on what he had to do wasn't a good idea either. Harry kept the conversation going.

"Hermione was talking to me about you the other day," he said.

"About what?"

"She's worried about the spells that you've been learning."

"Oh, that," Ron said, disappointed. He had probably been hoping that Hermione came to Harry to discuss something along the same lines as what he had.

"She's worried about you," Harry said, trying to frame it in a more positive light. "Honestly, I don't have a problem with what you're doing but I thought that you two should settle this before you confess anything to her."

"It's not that simple. Hermione doesn't really get it. She thinks she does, but it's hard to get it when all you've known is Hogwarts. We've had our own problems here, but it's not like being out there: the fear, the worry, the doubt. I'm not a blood purist or anything but it's hard for someone who doesn't have any family here, and has never felt that kind of threat, to understand. I just want to help keep my family safe. I know what happened during the last war. I know what happened to my uncles. I'm not going to let that happen to my family."

"Have you tried explaining that?"

"She just gets angry when I tell her she doesn't understand. Hermione's brilliant and all, and I, you know, care about her, but she sucks when it comes to understanding stuff like this."

"You're not going to give this up."

"Yeah. I won't be a burden when we have to fight. There's no use pretending that we'll never have to. It's already happening around us."

"Then there's only one thing to do. Lie."

Ron's surprise was to be expected, but as far as Harry saw there was no other solution. Ron and Hermione were two of the most stubborn people he knew. Neither was going to back down on this. Harry agreed with Ron, and while he understood Hermione's fears, he thought that they would have to be pushed aside for the sake of the war.

They were schoolchildren, but they weren't really. They were already marked enemies of Voldemort. Ron was acting like it. Hermione wasn't.

A year ago Harry wouldn't have considered lying to Hermione. It would have been an abhorrent notion. They might argue, but at least they know where they stood. Now they didn't have that luxury.

Ron and Hermione were in love. Ron and Hermione were at war. In the face of that, their love might not last. Ron understood that. Hermione didn't.

"I can't lie to Hermione," Ron said.

"If you don't then you'll have to make a choice between the two. I don't think that's a choice you want to make. It's definitely not a choice that I want to see you make."

"You just want me to lie to Hermione instead."

"I want to see you and Hermione happy. For forever would be nice, but if we can't have that then at least for right now."

"Even if I could lie to Hermione, she would find out. She's too smart for her own good," Ron said.

"I'll help you. We can use the Room of Requirement. She may suspect something, you're right, but we'll never give her the chance to prove it," Harry said.

Ron paused. He was being asked to choose between Hermione and his family on one hand, and truth on the other. To Harry it was obvious what the best choice was, though he couldn't say that he was sure what the right choice was.

When Harry thought about it, he wasn't sure that he would be able to lie to Fleur like that. He could claim that he would never need to. Fleur always seemed to understand what he needed. But that was an evasion, no matter how true.

The fact was that Harry would never be able to lie to Fleur like that. No matter the necessity. He was asking Ron to do something he never could, and so Harry knew that he was a coward.

The incongruity of talking about a confession of love to Hermione alongside lying to her was not lost on him. It was hypocritical, arrogant, and condescending; but he was willing to take on all of those epithets to see Ron and Hermione happy.

"She'll kill us if she finds out," Ron said.

"We have to make sure that she never finds out," Harry said.

"It might even ruin our relationship," Ron said.

"That's possible."

Ron sighed. He looked like he had just been asked to put his family to the sword.

"We'll try this out, but eventually I'm telling Hermione the truth," he said.

"I think it's for the best," Harry said.

"This had better not backfire on me."

"I'll take the blame if it does."

"Somehow I don't think that'll save me from Hermione."

"Then if we go down we're going down together," Harry said.

"Somehow I always assumed it would end like that," Ron said.

* * *

The first Slug Club party was tedious. The second was agonizing. By the third, Harry was wishing that he had gone with the Imperius.

"You can't tell me that you're actually enjoying this," Harry said.

"I've been to worse parties," Fleur said. She smiled winsomely at a passing guest, who stumbled into the bar in response.

"Can I get it out of Slughorn now? I don't know how much more of this I can take."

"You were with him for a while tonight."

"Over an hour." The memory made Harry feel like a cheap escort. 'Talking' to Slughorn mainly consisted of being guided around like an ambulatory trophy as Slughorn tried to sweet-talk whatever inferior official or minor celebrity had been beguiled into coming. Anyone of note only showed up for the major occasions, if at all.

Not all of the guests were bad, with a rare few actually managing to keep Harry entertained despite his unfortunate position at Slughorn's side, but most seemed interested only in squeezing as much out of him as possible. The verbal jousting, with Harry having to fend off suitors desperate for his reputation's chastity, had grown tired quickly.

"Do you think that Slughorn's had enough to drink? He seems fine to me," Fleur said.

"Three scotches and a glass of champagne. I made sure that there was always one on hand," Harry said.

"That's not enough. The man's enormous. I suppose there's nothing for it at this point. I'll have to handle it. Just get ready."

Fleur positioned herself coquettishly in front of the bartender and requested two drinks. The bartender handed them to her with an expression that suggested she was the one doing him a favor. A pair of guests who had been waiting scowled at Fleur, and then the bartender, both of whom were completely unrepentant.

Fleur carried two double Firewhiskies, smoke ringing into the air, over to Slughorn and his entourage. Within a minute she was integrated into the conversation and Slughorn was fisting the new Firewhisky in one hand and a half-finished glass of scotch in the other.

Now Harry could slip away and wait somewhere. Even Slughorn's formidable tolerance had limits, and he was sure that Fleur would be able to find them.

To his dismay, he was accosted, not rudely, before he had a chance to slip to some forgotten corner of the party.

"You've been keeping busy tonight," Ginny said.

Harry wasn't uncouth enough to show his disappointment. Fleur had bludgeoned enough manners into him to make sure of that. Still, he wasn't interested in more highline conversation—though it wasn't as if he could just blow her off. Again.

"Slughorn likes to show me off. I'm his trophy wife," Harry said.

"Or at least you were, until Fleur took your spot. And unlike you she's pretty enough for the job."

Ginny was wearing a conservative red and black pair of robes, nestled somewhere between the formality of dress robes and the everyday casualness of their school robes; perfect for a Slug Club party. The red, closer to maroon, was marbled with black, giving the dress a sleek, modern look that suited her.

It went well with her hair and complexion, Harry noted. The ensemble somehow made her seem older, more mature; beautiful like a woman, not just pretty like a girl.

"I didn't see you at either of the last parties," Harry said.

"It's always good to know when to show up and when to stay away," Ginny said.

Harry took the point in the spirit it was intended. Ginny didn't look upset, or irritated—he supposed that she had, if not gotten over it, at least settled down about him ignoring her. Though he hadn't ever actually made it up to her.

It was a nice change to know a girl who could let things go. If Harry had to guess, he would say that it was a pleasant byproduct of living with so many brothers. Grudges had to come and go in a house like that, even if she was the adored little sister.

Their conversation, which had proceeded in fits and starts, stuttered back to life, as Ginny said, "We could've used you in our last game. Ravenclaw demolished us. Thirty point win even though we caught the snitch."

"I haven't really had the time for quidditch recently," Harry said.

"I figured. Busy saving the world and all that."

"Ron handles the saving the world bit. I just sit back and take the credit."

"And by that you mean that you trust Hermione to save the world and Ron to do exactly as she tells him."

"It's a system that's never failed us," Harry said.

"If it makes you feel any better I think that you'll make an excellent figurehead for Hermione to rule the country with," Ginny said.

Their conversation strolled on from there: dueling, school, friends; Harry let Ginny occupy him with light fare while he made sure to glance over at Slughorn ever now and then, to make sure that he wouldn't miss Fleur indicating that they were ready.

Throughout it all Ginny kept Harry entertained, laughing for the first time since had come to Slughorn's party. Talking to her was like getting drunk, without having to suffer through any of the hangover the next morning. A pleasant smothering euphoria that grew, crescendoed, and then flattened out into a buzzing blur.

"So Colin is sprinting down the hallway, the carpet is chasing him, and all Professor Flitwick says is, 'We'll get him when he loops around.'"

"I thought that Colin looked a little worse for the wear last week," Harry said.

"Apparently it caught him. Twice. Nasty animation too. It nearly smothered him the second time," Ginny said. "I swear, he's never going to get used to magic. Even when things are trying to eat him he looks like he's having the time of his life."

"He's been doing well in the Dueling Club, at least," Harry said, feeling strangely compelled to defend Colin. "Hasn't even caused any explosions recently."

"True, but that's the kind of thing you praise a first-year for," Ginny said.

"There are plenty of other people in the Dueling Club who blow things up accidently."

"Poor boy, you have such a dangerous job."

"And I'm not even getting paid."

"Dumbledore should be fired for that oversight."

"You know, I've always thought that I would make an excellent headmaster."

"Why don't you try out being an actual teacher first?" Ginny asked. "I'll let you practice on me. I've been having trouble with the Locomotor Charm that Professor Flitwick has been trying to teach us. If you could help me figure it out sometime I'm sure it would really cement your credentials."

"I think Hermione might be a better choice for something like that," Harry said, trying to adjust to Ginny's rapid pivot without sounding off balance.

"I already asked her. She told me that she was too busy right now," Ginny said.

It was a lie. It was a bad lie. It wasn't even supposed to be a believable lie. Harry didn't doubt that Ginny had talked to Hermione, but he also knew that Hermione would never tell Ginny that she was too busy to help her. Hermione loved helping people, and she loved showing off her learning even more.

They were conspiring together. Manipulative witches.

"I'll tell my mum to send a box of treacle tart," Ginny said, cajolingly.

"I can't be bribed," Harry said.

"I'm just offering payment for services rendered."

Harry looked up at Fleur, ostensibly to check on her progress with Slughorn, whose laugh had become so booming that it was actually disturbing conversations on the other side of the room. Fleur was outwardly amused, but Harry could see the subtle lines—creased brow, tight eyes—that indicated that she was nearing the end of her patience, as if she were a displeased teacher and Slughorn her errant student.

He would have to intervene. Before Slughorn did something. Or worse, Fleur did.

"Can we talk about this later, Ginny? I really need to go talk to Fleur quickly," Harry said.

There was a pause that struck Harry as almost dangerous. Then, "Sure, that's fine," Ginny said. She smiled, turned around, and left.

Not pausing to ponder the abruptness of her departure, Harry moved over to intercede between Fleur and the dangerously bobbing Slughorn. He didn't mean to behave like a cad to Ginny, but the situation over there looked to be deteriorating.

"One of the most talented witches to ever step foot in these halls. The most talented even! Talent, talents, nothing less than supremely talented," Slughorn was saying, poeticizing, almost singing.

"Thank you," Fleur said. She looked strained, but some of that dissipated when Harry joined them.

"We were wondering where you got off to, Harry," she continued.

"Harry?" Slughorn peered at him, squinting comically from his position only a few feet away. "Harry! Good lad, I was hoping that we would see you again tonight. You're one of the highlights of the party, after all. Along with Ms. Delacour here, of course. The two of you light up the room. You're, dare I say it, magical!" He chuckled to himself.

Harry wondered if he was being made fun off, but quickly dismissed that. Slughorn was just a fool when he was drunk. Unlike most people, however, Slughorn wasn't slurring his words, but rather letting them fall with such messy merry rapidity that they seemed almost to come out in discrete chunks and phrases; paragraphs came out with the same speed that another person might finish a sentence. It took Harry some time after Slughorn spoke to translate.

Their timing for getting him drunk had been perfect. It was nearing the end of the party anyway, and people looked ready to leave; a decision which was only being encouraged by Slughorn voluble boisterousness.

The Hogwarts students looked especially wary of being caught in the gravity of Slughorn's orbit. Harry saw them skimming along the edges of the party to the door in an unannounced full retreat. He envied them.

Their exit had a cascading effect on the rest of the guests, until even the most stalwart were moving to the exit, as if there was some kind of emergency evacuation taking place.

Slughorn noticed, but didn't seem to comprehend or process the fact that everyone was leaving. He was teetering on his feet, his great bulk threatening to crash against the floor if it were only given the barest nudge.

Fleur was no longer bothering to conceal her amusement. Harry doubted that Slughorn would have the capacity to notice, in any event.

"It looks like the party is winding down for tonight," Harry said. "It's a shame. We never really got the chance to talk, professor."

"Too true, Harry. Too too true. Why don't you and Ms. Delacour join me for a quick nip before bed back in my rooms. Nothing to worry yourself over, Harry, we'll keep it reasonable, but the night is young and it would be a blasted shame for things to end so soon. As I've always said, the three great tragedies of life are the end of a good conversation, the end of a good bottle, and the end of a good party. I refuse, I absolutely refuse, to let all three happen at once. Don't you agree? Of course, it's settled then. I'll treat you both to something I've been saving up for years. A gift from the last Assistant Head of the Department of Magical Transportation, T.H. Harrington; a fine man—died in a terrible floo accident, just terrible—he never stinted when it came to pitching in with a nice gift her and there. Head Boy in his day, on my recommendation, of course. I could see you in that role some day, Harry. What a shame it was though. Such a fine man. A terrible accident."

"I'm afraid that I won't be able to join you tonight," Fleur said, as if Slughorn hadn't just sucked up most of the oxygen in the room. "I'm behind on my work as it is."

Not only did Fleur manage to not give the impression that she had been waiting patiently for an opportunity to speak, she also didn't give Slughorn the opportunity to ask what kind of work she would be doing at midnight on a Friday.

"A shame. A tragedy. Misfortune in the extreme. We shall truly lament your loss for the rest of the night, Ms. Delacour. Truly, it won't be the same without you."

Fleur made her goodbyes (in a rather extended manner, as Slughorn couldn't restrain his effusive outpouring). Harry thought that he made it seem as if they would never meet again, rather than being parted only until breakfast the next morning.

Once she was finally gone, Slughorn said, "A shame. A true shame. You'll join me though, won't you, Harry?"

"I'd love to, professor," Harry said.

"Wonderful, so good to hear. Let me just thank the rest of my guests for coming and we can be on our way. This won't take long, don't move a muscle, I'll be right back."

On clumsy legs Slughorn shambled over to the last partygoers, who were clearly staying more for the open bar than the company or environment, and thanked them loudly for coming. Harry thought that it should have come off as rude, but Slughorn possessed the remarkable ability, native to older gentlemen, of making even a discourteous dismissal sound regretful and unavoidable. It was like Slughorn actually would miss their company, perhaps even spend the rest of the night thinking of them, despite the fact that he was the one ushering them out.

"Let us be on our way then, Harry. The night is stealing away from us while we dawdle here. The elves will take care of this mess but, oh, bring that bottle of scotch with you. It's far too fine to be wasted on an event like this, I can't even imagine what I was thinking—better for us to enjoy it ourselves, eh? You and I will make good use of this. Albus may not approve but, as your professor, I'm obliged to prepare you for the future to the best of my ability, so consider this one of your most crucial assignments. I tell you, wasting good bottle is one of life's greatest tragedies, remember that. Well, what Albus doesn't know can't hurt him. You understand, of course, Harry? Good, good, very good. Let's be on our way then, no more delaying, dawdling or dilly-dallying for us."

"Yes, professor," Harry said. He held the scotch in one hand and kept the other at the ready, in case Slughorn looked like he was going to tilt and sink.

On second thought, Fleur may have been overzealous. He had wanted Slughorn drunk, not babbling incoherently. Could memories even be extracted while he was like this?

"Lovely party tonight," Slughorn said. "We owe a great deal of that loveliness to Ms. Delacour. She's the finest, absolutely most indisputably quality addition that Albus has made to the faculty in all of the years that I've been here, and I've been here quite a few, Harry. Half the school is thanking Dumbledore for that appointment, and half the faculty too, though the blasted buggers would never admit it."

The farther they walked together the less inclined Harry was to catch Slughorn if he fell.

"I'm sure that I'm not saying anything you haven't before. After all, you're not a blind man! Nothing to be ashamed about, Harry. Nothing at all. Indisputably quality, after all."

"Are we almost to your rooms, professor?" Harry asked, clenching the bottle of scotch rather tightly. "I think the bottle is starting to get chilly."

"Not to worry, Harry. Not to worry in the slightest. Just up ahead. The door's unlocked, so be a good lad and let us in."

Harry had expected that Slughorn would have taken up residence in the dungeons, like their neighborhood skulker and sneerer, but instead he had requisitioned a nice suite on the second floor, well out of the way of any irritating foot traffic, with exactly the sort of ostentatious furniture and decorations that Harry would have expected.

After depositing Slughorn in one of the plush chairs in the living room Harry looked around. Despite the flashiness, the furniture's comfort wasn't compromised; indeed, the room had been optimized for the perfect balance between form and content, with the trappings of luxury—thick carpets, sumptuous couches, and soft silk pillows—mixed with elaborate sculptures, solid pieces of carven fixtures, and tasteful works of art distributed carefully along the otherwise bare walls.

The entrance and living room had an adjoining kitchen and bathroom, and at the end of the lone hallway Harry saw another door, which he presumed was Slughorn's bedroom. The suite smelled like smoke and pine, as if there was a relaxed fire chirping somewhere, hidden away.

"Would you be so kind as to pour me a glass, Harry?" Slughorn asked from his chair. His head bobbled forward, making Harry think that he'd fallen asleep, before he recovered and straightened. "And one for yourself, if you're so inclined. What Albus doesn't know won't hurt him. I dare say you've suffered through more dangerous experiences than a drink with a professor."

Harry gave the sort of unconvincing laugh that's reserved for superiors and in-laws, and Slughorn laughed along with him, delighted in Harry's seeming good humor. When Harry returned from the kitchen with the glasses, Slughorn was still chuckling to himself.

One glass went into Slughorn's hand, scotch mixed liberally with water. Harry counted on the man being too inebriated to notice. He kept the second for himself. Harry had been as liberal with the scotch for himself as he had the water for Slughorn. If he was going to spend time with a Slughorn this intolerable then he would need to apply some kind of numbing agent.

For a few minutes Harry engaged Slughorn in small talk, listening with as much engagement as he could muster to Slughorn's endless repository of stories about the famous students he had taught and the influential world-beaters who owed him some favor or another. Some of it was probably true, but Harry didn't doubt that a great deal of it was either exaggerated or utter tripe.

Slughorn sounded like nothing so much as a desperate groupie, living vicariously through the deeds of his betters; many of whom, Harry thought, had about as much patience for Slughorn in general as he was feeling at the moment. There was clearly a reason why none of them bothered to make even the most perfunctory appearance at one of Slughorn's parties.

After listening for a while, Harry realized that there was no point in making an attempt at subtlety. In all likelihood Slughorn wouldn't pick up on it anyway. He was functioning more or less on autopilot.

"He sounds like he was really talented. How does my mother compare to that? You said that you knew her," Harry said.

"Your mother…a fire that burned too brightly and too shortly," Slughorn said. Harry supposed it was supposed to sound dramatic but it came off as mawkishly insincere.

"She would have created some of the finest work this country has ever seen," Slughorn continued. "The field didn't matter, no it didn't matter at all. She had such talent, and it was marvelous to watch. A mind like few others, you understand. Not just intelligent—there are plenty of intelligent witches and wizards who pass through these halls. Your mother was an original; original in thinking, original in acting, just original in life. Such talent she had, immense talent."

Slughorn moved himself with his rhapsodic hagiography. He sniffled loudly when he finished talking.

"I wish I had known her," Harry said, prompting Slughorn on. They both took a drink. Slughorn shuddered, for no discernable reason, and set his largely untouched glass on the end table.

"She would have been immensely proud of you m'boy. I'm sure of it." Tears started to fall, and Slughorn wiped them away openly, unashamed of his outpouring. He looked like a great overgrown baby, helpless and frail, in the moment just before it started to wail.

"Sometimes, when I think about what happened…I get so angry. I want to make You-Know-Who pay for what happened…but I don't know how," Harry said, eyeing Slughorn like an instrument to be played. Every move he made was filed away in Harry's mind to be analyzed, as if it would reveal the proper sequence of notes to play that would allow him access to the memory.

Slughorn was looking down so Harry kept talking. "I can't beat him though. Not by myself. I need help, professor."

Harry waited. Slughorn reclaimed his scotch and drank down the contents greedily. He gulped when he finished, a sound that seemed foreboding in the silence that had ensnared the room.

"There's no way to win against that monster. Put it out of your mind. Forget that it's even an option," Slughorn said. He held out the empty glass in his hand like a cross to ward off evil.

"There has to be something. Someone has to know something," Harry said, softly, coaxingly. Slughorn's earlier cheerful loquaciousness was gone, replaced by the paralyzing terror that had, in the absence of countervailing influences, grown over years of insidious neglect to monstrous proportions. Voldemort wasn't a human to Slughorn; he was a monolithic horror.

Harry pitied the man. He wasn't strong or brave; he had no Ron or Hermione; he had no Dumbledore or Fleur. He had been running for years from a traumatizing truth, and now Harry was backing him into a corner and wheedling out that truth, trying to force out all that which he had tried to lock away.

"Please, professor. Doesn't my mother deserve justice?" Harry said.

"Did Dumbledore put you up to this?" Slughorn asked. His voice cracked. His hands trembled. It looked like the glass would be sent spilling to the floor at any moment.

"I saw her, you know. The night that Voldemort was resurrected. I talked to her."

"Saw her. Talked to her," Slughorn repeated. He started crying, silently but violently. His whole bet was set to trembling.

"She told me to run. She kept me safe again. Sacrificed herself for me again. I need your help, professor. So that my mother's sacrifice wasn't in vain, I need your help."

Slughorn tried to talk, but all that came out was a gut-wrenching strangling sound, as if Slughorn's body were turning against him out of spite. Harry gave him the time he needed to regain control of himself. He gave the words time to sink in.

"It's all my fault," Slughorn finally said, his voice no more than a whisper. "All my fault. I did this. All of it. Everyone who died. All of these years. All of these people dying. It's all my fault and no one ever knew. Never knew that I was the one to blame. They should have been blaming me, but they never knew. Didn't know, couldn't have known. Because I was afraid."

"You can make up for that," Harry said.

Slughorn let out a piteous moan that echoed through the room, and then rattled against Harry, giving him some idea of the silent invisible sickness that had been festering in Slughorn ever since the first rise of Voldemort. Years of overwhelming guilt, shame, and fear condensed into a single haunting lament.

The sound lasted an eternity, and then stopped, and Slughorn stopped crying, and Slughorn stopped shaking.

"It's yours. My memory. The one that Dumbledore wants. I should have shown it to him so many years ago but I was so ashamed, and I was so frightened. You understand, don't you, Harry?"

"I understand," Harry said.

He no longer felt any distaste for Slughorn. It was hard to say that he had any feeling for Slughorn at all. As if the man was now utterly beneath his notice, existing as the antithesis of everything that Harry had ever stood for, fought for, sacrificed for.

Slughorn drew forth the memory with an unsteady but determined hand. Harry held out the vial that he had brought along and let the memory nestle and swirl within. He stoppered the vial.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so so sorry," Slughorn repeated, over and over again. His glass dropped to the floor. Harry picked it up and placed it on the end table. He guided Slughorn to his feet and led him to his bedroom.

Harry helped Slughorn into bed. Slughorn kept repeating his penitent's litany, the sound of it failing to penetrate Harry's ears.

Slughorn rested. Harry left the room. He wondered if Slughorn would remember any of what had taken place.

The vial seemed to have an immense weight. It bore down on him. Each step Harry took required an inordinate amount of effort.

The distance to Dumbledore's office had never seemed greater.

* * *

"That many of them…" Harry said.

"It would seem so," Dumbledore said. "I had my suspicions but even I didn't truly think that Tom would be so audacious as to split his soul seven times."

"They could be anywhere."

"Two have already been destroyed. One by your hand and one by my own. Three are close to falling in our grasp; the tainted legacies of the founders. One is kept my Voldemort's side at all times. And the last cannot be destroyed without sacrificing something precious."

Dumbledore spoke not as a kindly old man, or the Headmaster of Hogwarts, but as the grand wizard he was; weighty, ominous, and not without a tinge of disgust. His gaze remained on the pensieve but Harry thought that he looked faraway, as if casting his mind into the deep hidden places of the world where such malevolent artifacts lay in wait.

The enormity of the task before them was crushing. In five years they had only managed to destroy two of Voldemort's horcruxes, and that was before he had returned. The only consolation was that now they knew exactly what they were looking for, and what they had to do. Dumbledore seemed sure of the exact nature of each horcrux.

"Do you know where they are, professor?" Harry asked.

"Yes. Our study of Tom was not in vain. His past is the map that will lead us to his horcruxes. Even Tom has things and places which, in his own way, he values."

"Then when are we going to destroy them?"

"Our assault must be swift. Should he learn that we have divined the nature of his immortality he will conceal his horcruxes beyond our ability to ever find. We move against him soon, before there's a chance of that happening. You will accompany me, Harry."

"I understand," Harry said. He didn't thank Dumbledore for including him, or press him for more details about his plan. They were past wearing the simple roles of teacher and student; at war, Dumbledore was a leader—Harry's leader—and he exuded the charisma and power that was required of one, carrying himself with a presence that truly could defy the Dark Lord.

"We leave tomorrow. Tell no one; not even your closest friends," Dumbledore said.

* * *

Harry thought that he'd been prepared for anything. A horcrux hunt might lead them to the foulest dungeon or most imposing peaks, and he had made his peace with that, prepared for any sacrifice, ready for any demand, willing to push beyond his limits, if only it was asked of him.

Even so, he was astounded, and not a little discomforted, to find himself standing in front of the Room of Requirement.

"There's a horcrux in Hogwarts?" Harry said.

"Tom concealed the fragments of his soul in the locations most important to him," Dumbledore said. "It would be more astonishing if Hogwarts were not on that list. There are few places in the castle which are beyond my gaze, and I have already scoured them for any hint of his horcrux. The Come and Go Room is the last possibility."

"I didn't think that Voldemort would have known about this place," Harry said.

"Tom plumbed Hogwarts for her secrets with a vigor that has quite possibly never been surpassed. He treasured knowledge of this castle much in the same way that you treasure your friends."

Harry wasn't sure that he liked the comparison between Voldemort and himself, salutary as they might be.

"What are we looking for, exactly?" Harry asked.

"There are four famous possessions of the founders which survive to this day. Gryffindor's sword is accounted for, and I have my suspicions as to where Hufflepuff's Cup has been hidden. We will find either Slytherin's Locket or Ravenclaw's Diadem here. Be alert, and no matter the temptation, Harry, I must insist that you do _not_ touch them. If you do you will find yourself in as a grave a state as my own."

Dumbledore withdrew a fraction of his withered arm, just enough to strike a spark of foreboding within Harry, and then he hid it away, though Harry was more aware of its existence than ever before.

"Have you prepared yourself, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

"I'm ready, professor," Harry said.

The door to the Room of Requirement opened. An endless horizon of junk rose before Harry's eyes. There were mountains of desks and dressers, wardrobes bursting open with clothes that had been dated hundreds of years ago, broomsticks that buzzed and sparked erratically, and dusty tomes that were stacked to the heavens, some of which were laying inert and others which gnashed and groaned, like prisoners stuffed in a dank cell.

It was a world of odds and ends, an island of castoffs, a never-ending chamber of clutter and scraps.

"Oh dear," Dumbledore said.

"We're supposed to find the horcrux in the middle of all this?" Harry asked. He looked at Dumbledore and was unable to decide whether he could be heartened or frustrated by the fact that the Headmaster was chuckling to himself as he surveyed the wasteland.

"I never thought that Tom would be willing to leave a fragment of his soul in a place like this. Perhaps he has more of a sense of humor than I thought," Dumbledore said.

"Sense of humor. Right."

"No point in wasting time now, Harry. We'll simply have to take our time and be thorough. You head in this direction," Dumbledore pointed imprecisely toward a particularly large and unsteady heap, "and I shall go this way. If you find the horcrux, send up sparks. Do not, under any circumstances, attempt to destroy it yourself."

"What if we can't find it?" Harry asked. There was no end to the expanse of miscellanea; Harry doubted that an army, searching for months, would be able to find something so insignificant. Hogwarts had been depositing enormous quantities of junk into the room for centuries. If Voldemort had hidden his horcrux at the bottom of some pile they would never find it. Harry said as much.

"Not to worry. Tom's vanity would never allow him to discard his horcrux in some forgotten corner. I have no doubt that it will be on display; a testament to the regard in which he holds it, and a way for him to show off his cleverness. He delights in outfoxing me."

Dumbledore patted Harry on the shoulder, which strangely did make him feel better, and then wandered off, whistling a familiar jaunty tune. He was swallowed by the endless room seconds later.

Harry sighed. When he had pictured horcrux hunting to himself it hadn't borne such a resemblance to dumpster diving.

As far as he could tell there was no overarching organizational structure to the room—no means of establishing a helpful pattern to guide him amongst all the junk. It was just stack and stack of lost items, with dozens of narrow paths spidering off in every direction. Harry was lost the moment he stepped off the original path.

In order to try to salvage the situation somewhat, Harry left various small objects behind him, in an attempt to mark his passing, like a lost boy out of a fairy tale. However, when he turned back to make sure that the path he had made was clear, the objects were back where he had found them, as if the Room of Requirement was resentful of any attempt at imposed order among the unremitting chaos.

There was no way to accurately sense the passing of time. Harry consulted his wand at what he thought was a regular interval, only to find that two minutes had passed, or twenty.

As he wandered, Harry brushed against a loose conglomeration of strangely designed instruments—like a cross between trumpets and keyboards—and was nearly flattened by an immense one which fell from the top, shattering into dozens of glassy pieces.

It let out a keening note in its final moment which reverberated throughout the room. Other melancholy sounds echoed back, as if by some ghostly chorus, giving Harry the sense of being in a haunted graveyard.

He imagined hands snatching at him from within the piles of junk, cruel misshapen creatures, forged by cruel misshapen magic, leaping at him, coming from high and low, pouncing and tearing. The images, more like visions, were artful, yet real, seemingly as clear to him as what was truly before his eyes. Harry hurried on. He hoped distance would cure the ills induced by that swan-song.

Eventually, once the feeling had faded, Harry took a break. He sat down on an old desk at the junction of several wide paths.

They had, by his reckoning, been in the room of nearly three hours. Since they had split up there had been no sign of Dumbledore. All of the adrenaline that Harry had been feeling at the start of the hunt had been replaced by an aggrieved boredom. In addition to all of the indisputable evil that Voldemort had done, he had also placed his horcrux in one of the most boring places Harry had ever been to.

Even the final satisfaction of slicing through the locket or diadem wouldn't be adequate compensation for the sheer tediousness of searching through thousands of rotting desks and moldy wardrobes.

Harry stood. The hunt was boring but there was no chance that he was going back to Dumbledore unable to say he had done his best. Several new paths branched out before him. Harry chose one, almost at random, getting a slightly better feel from it than the others.

That feeling of rightness, like drawing near a warm welcoming campfire, grew as he walked. It got stronger and stronger still, until Harry was forced to admit that what he was feeling wasn't some hunch, but the calling of like to like. A connection that had once been so tenuous as to be invisible was suddenly igniting and calling out, gaining more life and form the nearer he drew.

An unbreakable thread had been formed, imperceptible by any normal means but there nonetheless. Harry knew it was leading him in the right direction. He drew ever nearer to the horcrux.

Doubt tried to creep in. He rubbed at his scar, as if he could scrub away at whatever taint connected him to Voldemort; but he pressed on. He would take advantage of their connection until it was time to sever it entirely.

A tense anticipation wracked him. Was this what had seduced Dumbledore into wielding the horcrux? This feeling, like returning home after a long journey? Harry couldn't shake the feeling that he was reuniting with someone, or something, that had once been dear to him.

He resolved to send up sparks as soon as the horcrux was in sight. Dumbledore had the sword and the expertise. It would be foolish to try to destroy it himself.

When he rounded the last corner—he had somehow just known that it was the last corner—Harry saw it. The diadem rested on the head of a carven warlock, grotesque by design and further diminished by age. The pairing was bizarre, almost repulsive; worn statue and gleaming diadem. Harry knew that the diadem didn't belong on that statue.

The connection that had pulled at him was now brimming, and it had started to snatch at him, as if it could, through overpowering will, force him to don the diadem. Harry grinned with a savage satisfaction at denying the horcrux.

He drew his wand and was in the process of sending up sparks when, with a sudden shift, the connection changed and Harry was sent hurtling into a freefall. He found it impossible to center himself.

It was no longer a string that tied him to the horcrux. Now it was a long bridge, and at the end of the bridge was a door. An open door.

A rough beast slouched into Harry's mind.

Harry's hand trembled as he was agonized by this foreign will. He screamed as images flashed by, superimposing themselves over his eyes so that the real world faded from his view.

An orphanage. Husks of buildings. Fires burning, children laughing, screaming, crying, whining, eating, shitting, showering, pushing him, yelling at him, and nobody nobody nobody helping him? They were bigger than him and hurting him and nobody nobody nobody came to help him. What why why why? They were bigger than him and hurting him and nobody Dudley was hurting him and the orphanage was hitting him and he was two nobodies, not just one, not Just Harry, both people both nobodies nobodies being hurt by these orphanage dudley boys

The images stopped. Harry realized that he was on his knees. He hadn't been breathing. He didn't manage to raise his wand before the assault resumed.

DumbledoreHagrid. His wardrobe was on fire and the door was broken down and uncle vernon with a shotgun telling him not to steal and not to tell lies because you couldn't steal at Hogwarts and hagriddumbledore leaving on the boat taking him to Diagon Alley by himself and the sights and wizards and goblins and his wand his Wand his very own Wand with a Phoenix Core and it had a great but terrible brother two nobodies and he left Diagon Alley alone with hagrid by himself and he was on the train with ron and the other slytherins who didn't know he was a mudblood with dead parents dead parents both nobodies dead parents and then There Was Hogwarts.

hogwartshogwartshogwarts vast amazing overwhelming and he was sorted into slytheringryffindor and everyone was happy and clapping and calling him a mudblood and Dumbledore was smiling at him suspiciously because he knew he knew how did he know that he was seething so angry and he wanted to make them hurt like he made dudleyorphanage hurt because he could talk to Snakes

Snakes were in Harry's mind.

They found all of the hidden places and burrowed there, head first, writhing and wriggling in him, cold and scaly and so painful. They moved him, the snakes, like he was their disgusting puppet, jerking him this way and that until he was standing again, pigeon toed and hunchbacked, one arm jutting oddly. He was reaching for the diadem.

Somewhere in his mind he was resisting. He couldn't touch the diadem. He couldn't touch the diadem or the snakes would win.

But they found him, in the deepest parts of his mind where he was hiding, and the snakes bit and tore. They made him scream and cry and ate chunks of him and then snakes burrowed in there until he was more Snake than Harry.

His body's grasping rigid movements became less unnatural and more sinuous, almost reptilian. His eyes blinked. His tongue lapped at the air. His fingers clenched and unclenched.

Harry touched the diadem. Harry put the diadem on.

The snakes were everywhere.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter VIII**

 **Interlude**

Every day Fleur walked through tendrilled layers of magic—sticky, probing, invasive—which writhed around the cordoned corner of the Hospital Wing, so saturated that they almost whispered into visibility, flickering out of the corner of the eye before settling back into their repose.

The rest of the Hospital Wing was empty. The patients had been transferred. Madam Pomfrey was forced to check them over in an adjoining room and then usher them off to the dungeons to be looked over more thoroughly by Slughorn, who would treat them liberally, and uniformly, to his stock of tonics and antidotes.

Even from the other room, the students would leave looking queasy, as the heavy magic began to settle and work on them. It suffocated. Madam Pomfrey left every day looking as if she had just been forced from one soul-sickening labor to another. Fleur thought that it was like trying to wade through smog; no matter how much you tried not to suck it in, eventually you had to take a gasping breath just to keep going.

Still, that was all only part of it. It was the sight behind the curtains that tormented her most.

Harry lay in a narrow bed, his hair fanning out over the white sheets and white pillow, slick with an unhealthy sweat, an unwholesome contrast to the immaculate room. He hadn't moved since Fleur had been allowed to start visiting.

The hospital gown was too thin to conceal the wriggling runes that had been hastily inscribed on his chest, stomach, arms, legs; on every part of him that had been within reach. Runes stretched down from his neck, along his back, and ran diagonally along and around his calves. They were painted with a fierce black that, along with how they slithered along his body as if they each had minds of their own, made Harry look like the host to some parasitic evil. The only thing on him that didn't move was a bold black circle, perfectly even, centered around his scar.

At random intervals the runes would come alive, like a menagerie running along his body, their movements a corrupt dance that only Dumbledore could interpret. Fleur looked away whenever they came to life. Something about it was too terrible to watch.

A pensive was pressed against the back wall. It was an arm's length from Harry. No memories stirred within.

Every day Dumbledore and Snape would enter, usher Fleur from the room and stay for an hour. The entrance barred itself after them. After the allotted hour they would leave. Nothing seemed to change. Harry never stirred, the runes never quieted, the wards continued their restless watch, the pensive sat silent and still.

Once, when Fleur had been waiting to go back in, she had felt the stirring of something dreadful. The wards hissed and spit at the gale-force tempest that the foreign presence raised, the magic that was as thick and corrosive as venom. It tried to escape. Fleur could feel it snaking around inside, even through the interference of the wards, but it was beaten back by some force even greater than itself.

The wards quieted. Dumbledore and Snape exited a few minutes later. They didn't say anything, didn't look like anything had disturbed them, and when Fleur entered Harry was in the same spot, same position, as always. Nothing had changed. Fleur hadn't been sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed.

Harry laid in bed. As far as Fleur could tell there was nothing wrong with him.

She sat with him every day. Others had tried to come, sneaking in, or begging Pomfrey, but the wards rejected them all. So, she sat alone by his side and watched him, felt the magic in the air, and failed to understand what any of it meant.

Often Fleur read by his bed. She read as if she would suddenly stumble on the missing piece that was needed to restore him. Something that even Dumbledore hadn't known.

It was a vain, idle dream; she couldn't even read a fraction of the litany of runes that were on him. Yet she tried, because failing was less intolerable than waiting.

Occasionally the reading would turn up something that served to help her piece together the meaning of a stray rune. A stray imperative in Ancient Greek, or an Elamite injunction. Yet the totality of meaning of just runes on his stomach was no less mystifying than the first day. She had the feeling of looking upon some great work, a cathedral that spiraled higher than all the others, so high it brushed and spread the clouds and could only be taken in piecemeal, such was the genius and immensity of its construction. Some of the runes inspired such a feeling of trepidation in Fleur that she thought she must surely be looking upon something hellish or divine. It was beyond her.

The third week since Harry's collapse came. Fleur was sitting in the chair by his bed. She forced herself to ignore the discomfort that the runes pressed upon her, and Harry's blank slack face, and the glaring insensitive whiteness of the entire Hospital Wing, and focused on her book and the runes on Harry's chest.

His gown was in the way, so slowly, as if not to disturb his rest, Fleur raised the gown until it was above his stomach, and then let it bunch by his collarbone. She ran a light hand over the runes, trying to decipher a few that looked reminiscent of those that she had been studying, but they didn't react. Harry's skin was neither cold nor warm. It felt like it belonged to a doll, not a man.

Fleur smoothed his gown back down. She returned to her book, starting again at the first chapter to ensure that she hadn't missed anything.

Dumbledore entered not long after she started rereading. He had none of the gravity about him that Fleur had come to expect. Any old man, shrunken and beaten by years of hard living, could have been taken off the street and put in his place. A part of Fleur was pleased by that. She couldn't be sure that he deserved it, but she felt that he did. Harry would never blame Dumbledore, if he woke, but she wouldn't be so forgiving of his as yet unproven negligence.

It became clear that Dumbledore wasn't going to speak first.

"Is he going to live?" Fleur asked.

"He isn't going to die," Dumbledore said.

Harry didn't look like he was in danger of dying. He looked vacant; like his soul had fled from its housing.

"What can we do?" Fleur asked.

"Anything that can be done, has been. The rest is up to Harry. Trust him," Dumbledore said.

"I trust him." She waited, then said, "He trusts you, too." She wanted to hurt him, and she was gratified by his visible flinch. After another minute, just long enough for Dumbledore to settle back into his own thoughts, Fleur asked, "Why did this happen?"

Dumbledore collected himself before responding. He seemed to judge her mood and responded accordingly. "I didn't understand the extent of Voldemort's influence. Nor the precise relationship that he and Harry share. My ignorance was used against Harry. The only reason he lives is because of who he is. Anyone else would have been utterly destroyed."

"The Boy-Who-Lives," Fleur said, and laughed.

She could tell that Dumbledore was genuinely regretful. He looked down at Harry like someone looked down at their own kin. It didn't move Fleur. She didn't want to be moved by him. Harry was the one that was drifting from her, and every reasonable suspicion laid the blame, at least in part, at Dumbledore's feet. He was the only one around to blame.

Dumbledore approached Harry. He traced his wand along the runes, over Harry's gown, and they shifted almost imperceptibly, before locking into place, as if they had been gears clinking crudely against each other with every grinding rotation. The wards shifted along with the runes. The air lightened. Harry was unchanged.

"This is the last time," Fleur said. She wasn't looking at Dumbledore, but it was directed at him. She wouldn't tolerate any ambiguity. Her powerlessness wasn't even a consideration.

"This is the last time," Dumbledore said.

They stood there like mourners over a fresh corpse. Harry was no more connected to the world than a wax husk, despite the subtle rise and fall, the twitch beneath his eyelids. Those seemed unreal, beguiling signs that were trying to lull Fleur into a sense that things weren't really as bad as they seemed, that he would wake soon and everything would be fine. She had believed that for days; longer than she should have, and the idea now burned at her.

Eventually, Fleur began to pretend to read. Dumbledore stayed, and she watched him with one eye, curious despite herself as to what he was thinking, and what he saw in Harry when he looked down at him. The more she looked at him the more obscene he seemed, and the angrier Fleur became at his impotence and frailty.

Dumbledore was old, and weakening, and failing, and he deserved to be where Harry was.

As if he knew something of her thoughts, Dumbledore stirred. He raised his eyes from Harry, stroked his beard once, ponderously, and then said, as if alone and struck by the force of his own thoughts, "So be it."

Dumbledore never again visited Harry when Fleur was present. A day later, Harry was allowed selected visitors. Dumbledore's orders.

* * *

Ron and Hermione looked uncomfortable on entering the Hospital Wing. Fleur considered giving them privacy, but decided that she didn't care enough. She doubted that they had been told anything, or would understand what they were feeling and seeing. It took a level of ability that neither possessed to be able to understand the kind of wards and runes that Dumbledore had employed.

After hesitating at the entrance, they pushed into the room, past the curtains, to Harry's side. Ron looked startled to see Fleur there. Hermione didn't.

"How is he?" Hermione asked.

"Unresponsive," Fleur said.

"Madam Pomfrey wouldn't tell us what's wrong with him," Ron said.

"Pomfrey doesn't know what's wrong with him. Only Dumbledore and Snape do," Fleur said.

She imagined that even Ron would understand the fruitlessness of asking Dumbledore to explain what was wrong with Harry. She wasn't going to give them a false hope that she didn't have herself. If her frustration carried over into how she treated them, that was fine. She _was_ angry. At Dumbledore. At Harry. At all of his friends and teachers and even the most peripheral drifter who had seen him out of the corner of their eye who had done nothing to prevent this.

Ron and Hermione talked. They buzzed like white noise, and they made half-hearted attempts to draw Fleur in, perhaps to assuage their own discomfort, or in some misguided attempt to comfort her, but she responded tersely, if at all, and shortly they gave up on trying.

They were Harry's obligation, not hers.

The two of them looked adrift at his bedside without conversation to steady them. Hermione looked more and more like she was going to cry. Ron was stoic, but it was a deplorable, false stoicism. The kind adopted by a boy who was playing a role. It only heightened Fleur's annoyance. There was something indelicate about him pretending to be strong for Hermione while Harry was laying there.

"Harry will be up in no time," Ron whispered to Hermione. His body was angled such that he was almost blocking Fleur's view of her. "Prat doesn't know how to get out of a scrape without breaking half his bones but he'll be alright. Dumbledore's looking after him too."

Hermione didn't seem to respond, but Fleur couldn't be sure. She decided, however, to become proactive and make an assessment of her own. Hermione pulled Harry's arms through his gown and dragged it down over his chest, then prodded at his runes, moving from the obvious to the obscure, her face unreadable as she scrutinized the layout.

Some of the runes shifted under her probing, like they were hissing at her provocation, and each time they did Fleur was ready to step in and stop her by force, afraid that she was ignorantly upsetting the delicate balance that Dumbledore had created, but Hermione would always move on, like she sensed the impending two-fronted assault. Fleur was left strangely disappointed.

Ron stared at Harry while Hermione worked. He managed to look half-casual while doing it, as if he wasn't invested in the outcome, but Fleur saw his clenched fists, his drawn brow. He was counting on her for a miracle, practically begging her for one, and he was going to be disappointed.

"It has a bizarre layout, and I don't recognize most of the runes," Hermione said. "I can't even tell what they're there for." She pulled Harry's gown back over his shoulders, hiding the runes, and his chest, from view.

"Imprisonment, cleansing, renewal," Fleur said, telling herself that if Hermione knew what she wanted to know then they would be more likely to leave.

Hermione took that in thoughtfully. "Something that dangerous would have worked quickly. There wouldn't have been time for Harry to be treated here. This must have been done in the field. Dumbledore would have had to be nearby."

Whatever exactly had happened, only Dumbledore and Harry knew, and they were both silent on the matter. Knowing almost as little as Ron and Hermione bothered Fleur. If Harry woke he would tell them, of course. The thought occurred to her that until then, she was no better they were.

"Dumbledore wouldn't let something like this happen," Ron said.

"Dumbledore isn't infallible," Hermione said. She was still looking at Harry and Fleur could almost see her mind rushing, searching for the single brilliant solution that they counted on her for, that would save Harry. Save him when so many others, better qualified and just as concerned, had failed.

Fleur didn't feel like herself. She felt sick, hot, and angry. She wanted to hurry Ron and Hermione out of the room. They couldn't do anything, and the longer they stayed the sicker she felt.

She resisted the urge to force them out. Harry would be angry if she did that.

"Let's go, Ron. I want to look something up in the library," Hermione said. Her eyes had passed over Fleur's book, _Fragments and Runes of the Hindustani_ , which had been pushed underneath Fleur's chair. Ron nodded, and they left without a goodbye.

They left, but Fleur still couldn't relax. She leaned forward in her chair and rested a hand on Harry's chest, listening to the slow, terrifyingly slow, beat of his heart.

Fleur wasn't there, days later, when Harry woke.


End file.
